Draco had never been one for sitting around in his free time. In his opinion, chairs were unnecessary and for those who had nothing better to do. And for Draco, he had everything better to do in his spare time.
Draco remembered complaining about the small hole in his wall to his friends a year before. His room was conveniently right next to the drawing room, and so much commotion happened in there everyday Draco had almost exploded with outrage because he could not have his privacy anymore. It's just a small hole, nothing to worry about, his father had said, as if he had reason to think Draco irritating. His parents had never had time to care about the "petty discomfort", for they were too busy serving the Dark Lord and placating his Death Eaters. That was what they had told him, at least.
Draco learned later that they weren't lying, in ways.
It was Pansy who had the bright idea of peeking into there. "Well, your room is right next to the 'room with a lot of commotion,' right? This is your chance to be, uh," Pansy had looked around conspiratorially. "Curious." Draco had scoffed, but he couldn't the suggestion from his mind.
It was the two weeks he was allowed to go home on break that he woke up with a start in the night when he heard the room next to his clamouring with-
Strange sounds.
Draco had crawled up in bed and, hesitating at first (because this WAS below a Malfoy), he finally garnered enough courage to sneak a peek into the hole in the wall. Was that his mum and Aunt Bella? A-and they were . . . scantily clad! Draco jumped away from the peephole, disconcerted.
Nevertheless he made to gain "privacy" from the ongoings he saw in that room. Draco supposed he just obtained pleasure from knowing others' secrets, kind of like how Aunt Bella got hers from torturing and serving the Dark Lord and romping with his mum. Draco shivered. At least it's not as weird as his father and the Dark Lord, Draco thought.
Draco continued to watch the drawing room through his secret little orifice in the wall. At times when others were supposed to be resting, he stayed up and eagerly observed the ongoings of the drawing room. After a while, he knew the routines of everyone that thought the drawing room was so private when the meetings were over. In the mornings, promptly at six, Wormtail would go there to whimper and pity himself and cut. He would make the elf clean it right after, though, so that no one sees his blood and taunts him. At lunch, Draco knew Aunt Bella would finish quickly and rush to the drawing room to try and seduce the Dark Lord again. Of course, she never did so, for it was his father on the Dark Lord's mind, but it was excellent entertainment. She would then come back discouraged and look for her sister.
Sometimes it came to mind that his father and mother wouldn't be so proud of him if they saw him like a common Rita Skeeter, sickly attentive to others' lives. Perhaps Draco didn't have a life of his own, other than at school. He didn't care, though. If he was going to be called "disgusting" and be done away with by other people, it didn't matter. It wasn't as if they should be talking in the first place. Imagine what their faces would be when he tells them he knows every little one of their trysts and problems and arguments, wouldn't that be scandalous! Oh, how his mother and father had disregarded him at first. Of course, it wasn't as if Draco was ever going to bring the hole to their attention again.
Because that was how Draco could watch them all.
He watched the depravity of his world, and he liked it.