"Narcissa! What is this I hear about you visiting that old Muggle woman?"
"Lucius, I just went around to borrow a baking tray, all mine are broken, you see . . ." "You know you're not allowed to consort with Muggles! Crucio!"
Draco shivered as he heard his mother's agonising screams. Lucius had always been hard, but ever since the rebirth of Voldemort he'd been intolerable, beating his wife and son every day for failing to live up to his impossibly high standards and refusing to mend their wounds, saying that they needed the pain in order to prepare their souls for the Dark Lord.
Draco was currently sat in the family crypt, situated at the back of the garden. He remembered when he was only a toddler, his father had shut him in here for a day in order to force him to become accustomed to death. Lucius had killed his daughter because she was a Squib just a few weeks before, and being locked in with her putrid, rotting body, and the bones of his ancestors, was almost more than the young Draco could bear. He still had nightmares about it.
But it was one of the few places where Lucius didn't go, and as such it was one of the few places where Draco went to seek solace.
He'd be going back to Hogwarts tomorrow. But even that thought didn't bring much relief; even when he was away from his father he still couldn't escape him. He had his family reputation to uphold and honour, and the punishments would be dire if he failed to act the way his father wanted. And in a couple of short months he would be eighteen. He would be handed over to the Dark Lord, have the Dark Mark burned into his skin, and become a Death Eater, and then there'd be no looking back.
Draco sat next to the bones of his sister, hugging his knees to his chest, tears falling silently down his face. He wanted so much to escape this nightmare, but he didn't know how; his father would track him down and kill him if he tried anything. All Draco wanted was a life, an identity, a personality to call his own, but he was not allowed. He enjoyed the money and respect that the Malfoy name commanded, but it was not worth sacrificing his soul over.
Draco removed a knife from his pocket and rolled up his shirt sleeve. He put the knife to his forearm and paused; the skull of his sister was facing towards him, and appeared to be radiating disapproval.
"I'm sorry, Alyssa," he whispered, "but it's the only way I'm able to get through this." He made five quick cuts over some old scars, and shuddered with pain and relief. Blood welled up, and seeped slowly down his arm. Draco hissed with pleasure, then performed a concealing charm and rolled his sleeve down again.
Draco cleaned his knife and pocketed it again, then resumed staring at the bones of his sister. Poor Alyssa hadn't deserved death; it wasn't her fault that she was a Squib. But that was what would happen if he ever dared to go behind his father's back and do things for himself. Lucius had some grand scheme planned out for Draco, and Draco's needs were not going to get in the way of it.
He sighed. \\Ah well, back to school tomorrow. At least there I won't have to listen to my mother's screams. I won't have to be beaten every day for something as trivial as dropping a sock on the floor. And at least, at night, I can forget about my future and be someone I want to be for a change.
I wonder if there's anyone else who feels like this? Are there other Slytherin children who don't want their destinies, same as me? But who will want to tell me anyway, or listen to what I have to say?
. . . If I don't ask I'll never find out . . . //
"Lucius, I just went around to borrow a baking tray, all mine are broken, you see . . ." "You know you're not allowed to consort with Muggles! Crucio!"
Draco shivered as he heard his mother's agonising screams. Lucius had always been hard, but ever since the rebirth of Voldemort he'd been intolerable, beating his wife and son every day for failing to live up to his impossibly high standards and refusing to mend their wounds, saying that they needed the pain in order to prepare their souls for the Dark Lord.
Draco was currently sat in the family crypt, situated at the back of the garden. He remembered when he was only a toddler, his father had shut him in here for a day in order to force him to become accustomed to death. Lucius had killed his daughter because she was a Squib just a few weeks before, and being locked in with her putrid, rotting body, and the bones of his ancestors, was almost more than the young Draco could bear. He still had nightmares about it.
But it was one of the few places where Lucius didn't go, and as such it was one of the few places where Draco went to seek solace.
He'd be going back to Hogwarts tomorrow. But even that thought didn't bring much relief; even when he was away from his father he still couldn't escape him. He had his family reputation to uphold and honour, and the punishments would be dire if he failed to act the way his father wanted. And in a couple of short months he would be eighteen. He would be handed over to the Dark Lord, have the Dark Mark burned into his skin, and become a Death Eater, and then there'd be no looking back.
Draco sat next to the bones of his sister, hugging his knees to his chest, tears falling silently down his face. He wanted so much to escape this nightmare, but he didn't know how; his father would track him down and kill him if he tried anything. All Draco wanted was a life, an identity, a personality to call his own, but he was not allowed. He enjoyed the money and respect that the Malfoy name commanded, but it was not worth sacrificing his soul over.
Draco removed a knife from his pocket and rolled up his shirt sleeve. He put the knife to his forearm and paused; the skull of his sister was facing towards him, and appeared to be radiating disapproval.
"I'm sorry, Alyssa," he whispered, "but it's the only way I'm able to get through this." He made five quick cuts over some old scars, and shuddered with pain and relief. Blood welled up, and seeped slowly down his arm. Draco hissed with pleasure, then performed a concealing charm and rolled his sleeve down again.
Draco cleaned his knife and pocketed it again, then resumed staring at the bones of his sister. Poor Alyssa hadn't deserved death; it wasn't her fault that she was a Squib. But that was what would happen if he ever dared to go behind his father's back and do things for himself. Lucius had some grand scheme planned out for Draco, and Draco's needs were not going to get in the way of it.
He sighed. \\Ah well, back to school tomorrow. At least there I won't have to listen to my mother's screams. I won't have to be beaten every day for something as trivial as dropping a sock on the floor. And at least, at night, I can forget about my future and be someone I want to be for a change.
I wonder if there's anyone else who feels like this? Are there other Slytherin children who don't want their destinies, same as me? But who will want to tell me anyway, or listen to what I have to say?
. . . If I don't ask I'll never find out . . . //