A Day in the Life.
There are some things that are far too complicated to be explained.. and some things that are just too deep within that the thought of letting someone else know is just too much to bare. Some things are not meant to be shared, this he knew but there were people around him who would probably think otherwise. He was the Slytherin Prince remember? It just wouldn't do to have people know that you're nothing but a fake, a liar. He had always been told that to show any hint of emotion that wasn't hate or malice was a sigh of weakness and that purebloods such as the Malfoys were anything but weak, which is why he always appeared to others as aloof and uncaring. Draco Malfoy had always been a zealous learner and so it was not surprising that he soaked up everything his mother and father told him as if he were a sponge in a bath, they had moulded him into the perfect pureblood son, one worthy of inheriting the Malfoy name and fortune. However, on arriving at Hogwarts at the age of eleven, for the first time in his life Draco was subject to opinions and world views that conflicted with those of his parents. Naturally he had confided his confusion to Lucius and Narcissa who had been quick to reassure him that anything he heard in school should not be taken to be true just because many happen to agree and that the way the 'Muggle-lovers' saw the world was only for the weak minded, for those too scared to see the world as it really was. For many years Draco had always come away happy from these conversations, convinced by his parents words of reassurance that he and his family were right and that everyone else was poor and misguided, following a false dream of equality.
Sitting alone on the ledge of the dark astronomy tower, Draco was lost in thought after a humiliating potions class. As usual Draco had been bested by the Mudblood Granger, and in front of his favourite professor no less; she had been the only person in the whole class who could correctly identify every ingredient in the Blood replenishing potion by it's smell. It was a cool night and the gentle breeze blew around his hair, lifting it from where it had been falling in his face, obscuring his eyes, as he gazed out towards the Forbidden Forest where the sun was currently casting it's final glow over the school. He couldn't understand that if the likes of Granger were supposedly beneath him, the superior Pureblood, how the bloody hell was she better than him in all of their subjects? Nothing was making much sense to him at that particular moment and amongst his mind's current confusion, a new thought crept into his consciousness: perhaps blood has nothing to do with it? He was so shocked that his treacherous mind would think such a thing that he almost lost his balance and fell from the tower where he was sitting. Almost. Unable to comprehend where a thought so damnable as that could have come from he turned his attention to the letter he received that morning from his father, pulling it from his pocket. He gazed down at his father's perfect cursive and the words which informed him that he was to meet with the Dark Lord at Christmas and receive the Dark Mark. Draco had never noticed before how cold and emotionless his father's letters often were, there was no hint from the text that Lucius even remotely liked, never mind actually loved his only son. Draco felt something strange in his chest, a sudden tightness which brought the slightest hint of a tear to his eyes. He quickly dismissed this and focused on the fact that he only had one month to wait until he'd finally be accepted into the ranks of the Dark Lord. He wasn't entirely sure if it was what he wanted but not one thought of escape came to mind or a way to snake out of it, just more of that sodding confusion.
All of a sudden he was overwhelmed with an immense feeling of helplessness, one which almost took his breath away and left him feeling as though he was not the one in control of his own life. Until that moment he had never really considered any other paths that his life might take other than the ones presented to him by his family but now he began to wonder 'Do I really want to become a Death Eater and follow in Lucius' footsteps? Perhaps not…but neither was he ready to openly declare support for Dumbledore and side with the Golden Trio. He sneered to himself at the thought just as the sun disappeared below the horizon, plunging him into an eerie sort of twilight as he remained perfectly still on the edge of the Astronomy tower.
His mind felt so crowded as he slowly pulled a silver knife from his pocket and gazed at it, caressing it with his index finger, as if it held him in a trance with the intricate carvings of ivy and dragons which graced its hilt. What would his dear old father think if he knew of his heir's recent recreational activities? "Ha! I'd be disowned" he said softly to himself, only the slightest of tremors present in his voice. He carefully pushed up the sleeves of his robes to reveal a network of old scars and somewhat fresher cuts, covering his skin, a map of the anguish he felt inside and had kept secret for so long. He let the silver blade dance in his fingers as he methodically began to carve up his arms, each incision letting all his worries drift away until he could focus on nothing other than the pain he inflicted and the blood on his hands.
Half an hour later, he was walking back to the Slytherin common room, his familiar Malfoy smirk plastered on his face, nothing was wrong with Draco Malfoy, or so he'd have everyone believe. It just wouldn't do to have people know how weak he was, how pathetic. As he stalked through the brightly lit corridors, teeming with students, he was dimly aware that everyone seemed to be coming from the Great Hall. Hum, he thought, must have missed dinner today. He truly hadn't realised the time, what with his revelation in the tower and the letter he'd received earlier on, not to mention the overwhelming desire he'd had all day that burned for the knife he knew was in his room, transfigured to look like a quill. Impatient to be back amongst his equals and away from all the filth roaming the school he roughly pushed his way past a group of first years, his only thoughts were of the pleasant throbbing of his arm and the prospect of sitting with his fellow Slytherins by the fire in the common room and insulting Potter and his friends. In fact, he was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he wasn't quite as aware of his surroundings as he ought to have been. His usually sly and observant mind had been overwhelmed by the numbness that he felt running through him, as it was want to be after his trips to the tower with his trusty knife and this he saw to be the only draw back to his little hobby. It was extremely unfortunate for Draco then that while his mind was happily elsewhere, Potter just happened to have been in the same corridor when the first years received that hearty shove and Harry just happened to see it as his duty to the school to hex the oblivious Draco into unconsciousness as a punishment. It was obviously one of those days.