Crumpling the letter in his fist Draco stalked out of the common room up to his dorm.
He was just so done with it all.
In the sixteen years of his life not one choice had been his own
He glanced vack down at the letter from his father, the ink staining his fingers.
Lucius once again was reminding him that he had a mission to compleate.
All his life it had been:
"for the Malfoy name, make me proud, mudbloods, dont do that, malfoys show no emotion..."
and on and on and on.
He looked down at the wand in his hand and stared at his reflection in the shattered mirror, he had punched it in frustration months earlier.
He couldnt stand the sight of himself. The person loking back at him wasn't a good person.
The person in that mirror was cruel and mean and horrid.
The person in that mirror hated those not like himself and followed a terrible monster.
He hated that person.
Glancing around the room he relized that he was not some follower.
That he was not the prejudice, stuck up prick that the wizarding populace belived him to be.
In Slytherin everyone had their own rooms because Salazar understood secrets and masks.
Dracos room was covered floor to ceiling in art.
From sketches that he had done in his free period of practicing students, to humongous paintings of the Hogwarts grounds or the constalations from the view of the astronomy tower.
Though those did take months to finish with their immense detail.
Draco looked around once more, slowly turning in place, before he raised his wand and got to work.
time for the wizarding world to get to know the real Draco Malfoy.