Disclaimer:Harry Potter, the world and its characters all belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. If I did, instead of being a poor student, I'd be rich and touring the world, and the books would have a heck of a lot more Drarry and NevillexLuna would be canon. My first real fic, so reviews would be very much appreciated.
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I woke up seeing white. You might think me crazy, and try and send me to St. Mungo's, but it is what it is. It was like I'd been dumped in a Pensieve- haze blinding me with white hot intensity. After a while, the brightness subsided, and I was hit by a wave of pain. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and brought the heel of my palm up to my forehead. Exhaling, I slowly lifted my eyes, only to meet a shocking expanse of red. In an odd cryptic sort of way, it was quite attractive, my soft pallor contrasting with the deep scarlet. I followed the trail of blood from where it began on my arms to where it lay pooled on the sheets. Bloody hell. I thought to myself. I'd always been mentally sound, but I was fairly certain that not even last week could have changed that. I had been content with my life- it wasn't perfect, but then again whose was- when suddenly everything came crashing down. Call it what you will- fate, destiny- magic.
I had never really been loved as a child. Cared for? Yes. Taught well? Yes. Important as the sole heir of the Malfoy name? Yes. But loved, not so much. Perhaps that's why it didn't affect me the way it should have. Malfoys were trained not to show emotion. I had been instructed to ignore my feelings and to do as I was told from a very young age. I suppose Mother did love having a child, loved having someone to dote on and fawn over, but Father was different. He was determined to bring me up as a perfect little Death Eater, regardless of my own viewpoint. He was only proud of me when I was in control- oppressing others, insulting them, putting them in their "proper" places. I, like any other child, only wanted to make him proud. In my naivety, I never knew what harm I was causing.
One afternoon in Charms, Professor Snape burst through the doors of the classroom as we were taking notes. Professor Flitwick's head jerked up in surprise. "Is there…a problem, Severus?" he looked questioningly from his place in front of the classroom.
"I need to speak with Draco" Snape replied slowly. Now it was my turn to be surprised.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy," Flitwick motioned towards me, "go on now, I'm sure your classmates will take more than excellent notes for you" he added, looking pointedly at Crabbe and Goyle.
I stifled a small laugh before gathering my parchment and quills. "Now, Mister Malfoy." Snape directed, putting unnecessary emphasis on each syllable. I left my things behind, shrugging in reply to Crabbe and Goyle's confused stares. Not that they weren't confused normally.
I waited until we had walked a while to speak up. "Sir?" I asked, "Where are we going exactly?"
"To my office" He replied curtly. My mouth formed a silent o, and we made our way to the dungeons.
Snape opened the door to his office and ushered me inside. Seated in front of his desk was my mother, her long blonde hair streaming down the back of the chair, so pale that she appeared to glow in the wan light of the fire.
"Mother?" I tried to conceal my shock. Luckily a lifetime of etiquette lessons had paid off. "What are you doing here?"
"Draco" She murmured, standing up. "Draco my darling" She pulled me into an embrace and I could sense her shivering slightly from the dank of the dungeons and the strain in her voice from god-knows-what.
"What is it Mother? Is everything alright?"
She sniffled a bit and smiled, "You never were one for tact, were you dear- always wanting to know right away." She stepped back as if to survey me. "You've grown" she added quietly. I now towered a few inches over her. "Your father would be proud." It took a while for the words to sink in.
"Would?" I paused, hoping to steady my voice, "What do you mean Father would be proud of me?" I hoped to Salazar that my voice didn't betray me. "Mother?" She slowly lifted her face to meet mine, and the gray emotion that filled her eyes confirmed my fears. My father was dead. I sank down into the chair numbly, shaking my head as if I had been swarmed by those Wrackspurts the one Ravenclaw girl had complained about. I was overwhelmed by a rush of feeling. The sorrow, the grief that I searched for could not be found. In its place, I felt relief, joy, and anger. I looked up at my mother and saw that behind a thin veil, her eyes remained hard and burning. I felt little comfort in knowing that I was not alone in my sentiments.
I left Snape's office, furious at my father for having robbed me of sixteen years of my life, then abandoning me when it was far too late to start over. I stormed past a clumsy git, not caring when he dropped his books and parchment.
"Hold it right there Malfoy" a familiar voice rang out. Of course it had been Harry, because it had definitely been my day.
"Out of my way Potter" I demanded, "I'm not in the mood to fuck with you."
He blushed slightly, but soon the red tinge was replaced by a smirk. "Or what Malfoy? You'll tell your father?" he sneered. I'd never seen Saint Potter sneer before, but the look was rather becoming.
"Oh go read the Prophet, Potter" I spat out angrily, "My father's dead."
His face slackened suddenly, and his shoulders caved in. "Oh," he paused, "Mal-Draco, I'm so-"
"I don't need your pity." I pushed past him and continued walking. When I reached the end of the corridor, I saw him still standing there, biting his lip nervously and toying with the edges of his robes. Gryffindors. I scoffed.