This place is so empty… so dark, and so lonely. It's my entire fault.

I have nobody. And I feel I must do something to be rid of this huge burden on my shoulders. A burden in which, one would not expect someone like me to be attempting to relieve.

A burden of death. Torture. Grief.

But why? One might ask.

I shall answer your question later. Do forgive my bluntness though. It's been one of my habits, one of the bad ones, and it has been lasting for at least the past 20 years...

You may wonder why I am lamenting upon such… sorrowful things. But do allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucius Malfoy, and I am a convicted Death Eater in Azkaban. You may want to stop reading this, for you may think that reading something written by someone as 'evil' as I am, is a waste of time. I don't mind. You can do what you like. It is your choice after all.

Do avert your eyes away then.

I'll introduce my family to you too. My wife is Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. She is a tall, willowy woman, beauty to match that of the Goddess of Love, Venus. She has sparkling blue eyes… long and curly blonde hair that used to be straight.

We have a son, Draco, which means 'dragon' in Latin. He also has blond hair (it is dominant in his genes, after all) and he inherited my grey, stormy eyes. He is the most handsome boy in the world… albeit spoiled. Indeed, one would not expect me to write / say this, but I really regret the conditions as to how he was raised – pureblood supremacy and superiority, the lingering of the Dark Lord, those of the Inner Circle...

How I am surviving it here in Azkaban, I don't know. Perhaps I think more positively, and more optimistically? I don't know, for I now know the value of each day. Vaguely. I am beginning to understand and unravel life's mysteries. Life is too short. Life is a gift to us for enjoyment, to be lived to the fullest. But I shouldn't be preaching this. I am a convicted Death Eater, after all. Or should conventions set by previous generations and fellow peers of your own be followed?

Is it right?

Or is it wrong?

Don't ask why I'm doing this. I'm just doing it. Maybe to pass my time here in Azkaban… or maybe I would like to have my story told. But this is not an autobiography. It's more of a recount of something that happened of late. And I did tell you to stop reading before, so it's your fault. And it is your loss. You're missing out. If you stop, that is. Carry on, and you'll receive something you never expected from me.

It was just a normal day passing by in Azkaban with only the Dementors for company… unless you count my darling sister-in-law Bellatrix as company, when suddenly, this ugly-looking wizard (most likely a mud- I'm trying to change my ways here, muggleborn) came to tell me that I had a visitor.

My first thought was that the visitor was my wife, Narcissa. Then, I thought, well, Cissy never comes so early in the morning – she was probably 'catching up on some beauty sleep', for my wife is as vain as the Greek God, Narcissus… how ironic is that their names are so similar…

Now let me carry on. The Dementors escorted me to the visiting room… with darling Bellatrix's screeches trailing after my walking figure, my feet shuffling, and dragging my drooping figure towards the room…

I'll admit that I was quite intrigued by the visitor. I didn't know who it was at the time… I am well aware of the fact that around 85% (and probably a bit more... maybe 90%) of the wizarding world know who I am and hate me. Abhor me for what I have done... Though I can't really blame them – I am, Lucius Malfoy after all. But do forgive my cockiness. I haven't had the chance to use that gift in a very, long time.

I knew for a fact that it probably wasn't Draco – Draco is probably extremely embarrassed by the fact that Harry Potter and his friends booted his own father into prison. I most certainly would be, if my enemy did that. So therefore, he won't visit me. That's the end of that story.

Forgive my constant change of attention to one particular topic, to another completely different one. Quote from my wife: I "have the attention span the size of an ant." Sad really. Once again, you have to forgive me, for I have only been in Azkaban for a mere two months, and already, I have attempted to atone my mistakes, by writing this… diary? No. It's too feminine. Journal? It sounds slightly more masculine… ah. A report. Sort of.

No interruptions now, okay?

// Insert sounds of 'okays'. //

I shall continue then. The Dementors had left me, drifting somewhere close by to keep an eye on me. I was standing outside of the visiting room all alone. It was cold and empty. Just before I entered the room, I noticed a shapely figure of a silhouette, that of a woman, standing still inside the room… I'll admit that I did have my ideas, until this outrageous suggestion of this visitor entered my head.

Her.

No. It couldn't be. I was adamant that it wasn't her. She wouldn't visit me, of all people.

And she did warn me all those years ago… her voice still twinkles in my mind, like the twinkling sound of wind chimes… it soothed my fears and anxieties, cultivated my ambitions and dreams… even though I never saw her.

And look at me now.

I'm a wreck. And I'm in Azkaban.

With these… creatures.

Before she left, she said many things.

"You will be, and are being sucked further and further into this mess that is the Dark Lord.

You will not be able to pull yourself out of it if you don't do it early. The earlier it is, the better.

You will not be able to receive the forgiveness of our generation, the forgiveness of the generation that is to come. All would be lost. The generations below you will be left to pick up the pieces, and will resent you forever...

You will be deemed as the 'evil', for nobody will speak to you, nobody will go near you. Your family reputation will be ruined.

I don't want to be pulled down into this with you. That's why we are having this conversation.

She stops, and pauses, maybe for effect. But I will never know.

Lucius. Do it before it is too late."

And then all goes quiet. I remember every single word of that conversation. It haunts me, even to this day.

That is when she stormed out. That is when she broke up with me. That is why she broke up with me.