It used to be his home, once, he thinks. Somewhere along the way, however, it turned into his prison. His father became his jailer, binding him with the ideal he didn't believe in and his mother...she stood and watched, unable to do much.
For a long time it became his sole purpose in his life to pleaded his father, to become the kind of man that Lucius Malfoy would be proud to call his son, without any regard for what he himself wwanted. He wasn't even sure what he wanted, back then. He learned eventually, what it meant to be Voldemort's follower.
The memories swirl around in his head now.
He is twelve, seeing the Dark Lord for the first time, in his own home, absolutely terrified by the unfeeling expression on Voldemort's face.
He is home for the holidays, and he watches from the crack in the door as his father kills a man, calling him foul names. He could not sleep that night, the image replaying in front of his eyes.
He is fighting a war and yet his cowardice is betrayed by his eyes trying to look away as his aunt tortures Hermione Granger.
It has been a while since he has thought of those, he realises, but the images still leave him reeling as they used to. He looks around at his house again, wondering of there is a single room in the place that has not witnessed any horrors.
He shakes his head sadly, in response to his own question. Then, he gets up from the chair and walking out into the cold night, leaving a fire burning in the empty room.
Notes: For TGS' Through the Universe challenge.
Prompt: Malfoy Manor
