A/N: This is my first posted story on this site, so I would appreciate any comments you could give me on it. Even a simple 'I liked it.' or 'It sucks.' would be helpful. This is has not been beta-ed by anyone other than myself, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. This story does contain SLASH, also known as M/M or YAOI, if you do not wish to view this type of content don't read further.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related, whatsoever in any way, shape or form. The characters, places, and world belong to JK Rowling and co. I am simply borrowing them for entertainment purposes and with no harmful intent.
Synthetic Being: Prologue
Syn·thet·ic (sin-thet-ik) - adjective
Not real or genuine; artificial; feigned.
See also: artificial, constructed, counterfeit, fabricated, factitious, fake, false, made, makeshift, man-made, manufactured, mock, phony, unreal, unnatural.
I am unsure where to start off. The beginning is quite overdone, so perhaps an introduction shall suffice. I am Draco Lucius Malfoy, and this is my story if you will…
The war is over now. Some of you may say that this is the end, or perhaps even the beginning, but for me it is neither. I find myself trapped in a limbo and I seem unable to escape its all encompassing grasp. I do not, cannot change and therefore the opinions of others unto myself remain unaltered. I am entangled in webs of lies and facades years in the making, yet I cling to them still, desperately afraid to let go.
I was brought up under my father's iron fist as a true Malfoy, the epitome of all things pure-blooded and dark. I had tutors left and right pushing me to perfection, and I was punished for the slightest infractions or faults. As I grew older I had fewer and fewer failures, and as such my father imposed an ever evolving standard of unachievable perfection on me. By this time I was already a model miniature Death Eater and the increased demand for perfection seeped into my school life as everywhere else was already completely dominated by my father.
In the dungeons I was known as the Ice Prince; calm, cool, uncaring, and in possession of the most acerbic tongue in Hogwarts. However, I was far from ice as I screamed in the agony of the cruciartus curse. My father had never raised his wand to me before school began, but as time went by it became increasingly frequent and by the end of my first year at Hogwarts I was punished whenever I was alone with him. Perhaps Harry Potter had caused me to receive detention or the 'filthy mudblood' had beaten my scores once again, it wasn't really important because no matter how 'perfect' I was it was never good enough, not for him.
I began to realize that my father was ill. Not physically, oh no he was in peak form, but a sickness of the mind. This was not the father I had once known, and in his place stood a man crazed in his obsession with dark magic and in his loyalty to a madman with the gall to deign himself 'Lord'. It was then that I decided I would never truly follow him or the Dark Lord. They might receive my body, but never my heart; my soul.
When I overheard my father's plans for the next year I could not sit there doing nothing, but I had no way of communication as my father read all incoming and outgoing mail. It was then that I sent Dobby, my house elf, to Harry Potter in an effort to save him from the impending doom. It was the first of many actions I made to aid the Light over the years that followed. Some things were as small as watching over Harry's night time wanderings, but others would have been extremely risky and dangerous if I my status as a spy had ever been revealed.
For five years I sent anonymous letters to the headmaster. Each letter was filled with names of Death Eater's and victims alike, outlining plots both is the making and in progress. I had always suspected that Dumbledore knew it was I who remained his silent informant, and that suspicion was realized when he offered me sanctuary on the night he died. I had never desired to kill that mischievous old coot, but the Dark Lord had held my mother captive after my father's failure in the Department of Mysteries. It was only after Severus killed Dumbledore that I found myself deceived. Voldemort had taken my mother, but he had not kept her alive. When I went to rescue her in the dead of night I found naught but a corpse that had once been the person I loved most in this world. The only good thing to come of my mother's death was that she took my father, her soul-bonded, with her to the afterlife.
In all that time, all those risks I took, Dumbledore was the only person who knew of my true allegiance. Now that he is gone I am alone and trapped behind the icy façade I have helped my father create. I often wonder if anyone will ever bother to look beyond my frozen surface. That was one thing that had always drawn me to Harry in years past, his ability to read people. He was so judgemental of me and I had always hoped he would be the one to see me; to break down my barricades of ice, but I'm afraid that is nothing more than the cry of unrequited love from behind a frozen veneer. It remains to be seen if my love shall remain unrequited by my own silence, or in the light of rejection.
As the start of a new school year, my last, draws closer I wonder what will become of me now that everything I once knew is gone; my family, my fortune, my friends, my home. I wonder how I will move past what I am still seen as by others, Death Eater scum, and if I can melt these walls that distance me from the world.