The smell of dark oak wood.
The sound of leather shoes on polished floors.
The look of silver after it had been shined.
The feel of green silk.
The memories of holidays in France.
The way sun used to shine through magnificent bay windows.
The sound of brandy being poured into a crystal glass.
Fresh flowers, of all kinds, in the springtime.
Chasing dragonflies in the garden pond.
The feel of long blonde hair that had just been washed.
The look of new, pressed robes.
The power of ordering a house elf.
Crying when things weren't achieved.
Hearing stories of the great wizards of our time.
The sound of heavy books being shut, the way the library smelled.
The bristle of an expensive racing broom.
Lying under a colossal bed while Death Eater meetings were taking process.
Drawing pictures in the dirt and getting in trouble for ruining my good robes.
The hate I had for Muggles and half bloods.
Learning about the family tree and studying it for hours.
Living up to great expectations.
The way snow used to fall on the oak trees in the gardens.
The way leather feels on skin.
Rain falling and not being able to go outside.
Millions of presents at Christmas time.
The sound of a deep voice, that gave criticisms.
Learning of a Dark Lord I would one day follow.
The sound of a woman crying because she loved her son, but her husband thought him
weak.
Staring at our family portrait.
Hearing about a child that didn't die at the Dark Lord's hand, instead killing him.
Envying that boy.
Dreams of the future and Hogwarts.
The emptiness of big spaces.
The taste of 1867 red wine.
The feel of Persian fine weave rugs on bare feet.
Hugging a person wearing cashmere.
The look of pale skin in the nighttime.
The feeling of hate towards Harry Potter.
The way the dark mark feels as it seeps into flawless skin.
Being a Malfoy.