The yelling from downstairs was frightening. Even the house elves, what few were left, ran and hid. Honestly, if I could, I would sleep at work or Blaise's or Theo's if I wasn't on my mother's short leash.
Every now and then, I hear one of them address me and Merlin save my bullocks if I am dragged into the chaos that is my mother and father arguing over color pallets or fabric textures again I will scream.
My parents, Salazar help me, are redecorating again.
Again.
Yes, again.
It has to be the third time that the dining room has been made over. What was dark woods is now some horrid combination of rattan seating and whites and creams. There is even a touch of yellow that my mother claims is not gold but looks awfully metallic to me.
I honestly don't know who I fear most, my mother or my father in this purge. Yes it is a purge. A purge of all the negative energy. A purge of all things post Dark Lord. It a purge of our past and opening the Malfoy name to this new 'golden era'.
This isn't the life I wanted. Hell, neither of the options really were. It was a choice between living in fear under the same roof as a homeless, bloodthirsty dictator or living in the shadows of my family's past transgressions in an era of scarlet and gold, with my classmates as the poster children of this brave new era.
Now I am compared to them daily. I hide in their shadows, not seen, not heard. I hide to protect myself and my reputation.
"Former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy." That is how every story reads. That all I am known for now and probably until the day I die. The youngest of the Death Eaters, the least successful, the one who only got the mark because of the failure of my father, the last of the line of failures.
What will a little new paint mean in the grand scheme of things? What will a little gold and red throughout the Manor bring? Repentance? Absolution?
No. It just paints over the inane stains that lie deep into the foundation of this home. The blood stains of so many innocents, so many victims, so many deaths, so many who nearly died.
The yelling never ceases. Father wants his home, the home of his ancestors, to remain strong and stable. To show the community that we will not bend or break under a 'weak' ministry as he has called it.
Mother understands the need wipe the sins of the past and open ourselves up to a new way of thinking. She isn't necessarily going to take tea with a gaggle of muggle born witches any day now, but that doesn't mean she cannot accept the world she grew up with has moved on. She understands the role our family played, as yes we were just mere players in a large game, we still had a role in the tragedy that befell so many.
Does that mean that every room should pay homage to the savior of the wizarding world and his cronies? No, as the one person in this house who actually knows them, they don't deserve that much recognition.
Does that mean that we should turn a blind eye to the atrocities that we were a part of and remain stagnant in this river of change? No, again. We cannot change the past, but that does not mean we try and completely erase it either.
It is a balance. Something the two screaming adults downstairs do not seem to grasp. For them it is all or nothing, extremes to the end. It is the one thing I have come to learn these past few years since leaving school and that is balance.
Balance - which is lacking with the two supposed adults that are acting more like toddlers as they argue over the color pallet for yet another room. Balance the good with the bad. Balance the past with the future. Balance. Balance. Balance. It is the one mantra that I keep reminding myself as I wake each morning and as I close my eyes at the end of the day. Balance. Life is just a large scale that, when tipped too far either way, can destroy. Good can destroy when you believe anything and everything is good around you. Evil can destroy with a mere look. Both cause pain and both cause chaos.
Balance. Balance is the one thing that should be remembered, should be a life's focus. Balance is how one remains on a broom soaring above the trees. Balance is how to brew the perfect potion and not cause some catastrophe.
Balance. Remember to keep balance. Keep perspective. Nothing is forever.
The yelling downstairs culminates in a crash this time. I wonder which one of the two broke some priceless heirloom.
They balance each other, if you think about it: Father is the past, mother the future. The problem is they rarely come together anymore. It is like life together is nonexistent and they can only see themselves through this cloud of post-war destruction.
That is where I come in: I am the mediator between the two extremes. I see the benefits to both sides of the coin. I see that we need to remain strong in our home as the world changes so radically. I see that there must be light, there must be dark. There must be a ying to the yang. Balance.
Now as the yelling increases, I wish to ride my broom far away from here. Maybe another country or another continent. It would be a blessing if there were a place, like space, that I could fly to and lose myself, my stigma. I would gladly give my name, my title, my inheritance away to get free of the shackles that tie me down.
My name is called for by my father. That means he wishes that I side with him over whatever monotonous chaos that has them in a state.
I rise, I have just been lounging on my bed for most of the day, avoiding them whenever possible. My body aches, not with age or exhasberation, but with resignation. One day this will be mine - what little good that accompanies the massive amount of bad. I should have a say. I should remain in balance. I should.
But honestly, it is the last thing I could care about. I trek downstairs, head held high as I face the executioner. It is how I have survived since the fall of the Dark Lord, do not show weakness. Do not give into a life that you do not agree with. Do not let them lay claim over you. Remain yourself.
Balance. Balance. Balance.
I find them in the place that brings the most terrors, the room that haunts us to the day, the room with the blood lined walls and blood soaked floors. This room was at one time painted in the blood of our enemy.
Now, we are the enemy. We are the losers. We are the ones whose blood should line the walls as a remembrance of the terror we caused.
But balance. Balance and forgiveness is the only thing that is allowing me to breath air today.
I cannot even step foot in the room, the room where a schoolmate screamed for her life, a room that was painted in the after effects of hatred and pain. This room has no balance now, nor will it ever. It is a ghost, a haunting reminder incarnate. It is something that should never be opened again; it is a physical depiction of Pandora's Box - all things evil.
"Destroy it. Destroy everything in it. I want nothing to do with this room, ever. It is closed to me."
Author's Note
Slytherin
Year 7
Standard
Prompt: Renovating a House
Word Count: 1315