Can't Be Perfect
Based on Simple Plan's "Perfect"
.:*:.
Lucius Malfoy went up to his son's bedroom. Well, now he didn't have a son. Draco Malfoy was now dead. It was basically his father's fault. But did he care? No. Not really. At least, not yet.
Draco's room was the same as always. Filled with everything his father had ever given him. That was back in the old days. Lucius had stopped giving him so many things when Draco went off to Hogwarts. He had always thought his son would grow up to be a real Malfoy. Another deatheater for Voldemort, or You-Know-Who for anyone who never spoke his name.
Lucius looked around the empty room. Rain slashed the windows and thumped on the roof loudly. He went to his son's desk, which wasn't used all that often. Usually he just piled things on top of it. Now it was all cleared, except for a piece of parchment and a quill.
"Odd." He said to himself, grabbing the piece of paper. He quickly wished he hadn't.
"Hello father. I will probably be dead when you read this, unless you read it before my twenty four hour limit, but I just wanted to tell you a few things." He read.
"I know I have always led you into believing I was who you wanted me to be. I know you think I'm a coward, as all non-supporters are in your eyes. I used to always want to make you proud, father, but, this just wasn't the way I could go.
Of course, I will die, taking this way. It's not that thrilling to die when you're only sixteen. I really could have done more with my life. Fear lead me on the wrong path. Fear always steered to where I am today, which is death."
Lucius put down the letter for a second, rubbing his face in aggravation. This was the letter Draco wrote before he died. He raised the parchment up so he could read it again.
"I want to let you know, father, that every second of my life I have always thought of you. Whether it was of fear or of greatness. I used to smile when I thought of you. Then I started to wince in fear of what was going to happen to me when I came home. Now, as I write this letter in my last twenty four hours, I feel pity.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. I cannot imagine what would become of me if I did join your path, father. I can't bear to think about it anymore. I used to have nightmares. Terrible nightmares.
Time is passing by quickly. It is hard to write everything you want to say when you're full of panic and fear. Yes, I admit I am afraid. I am about to risk everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect."
Lucius stopped reading, millions of thoughts going through his head, telling his what a terrible person he was, what a terrible path he had chosen, and what a terrible thing he had done. He suddenly snapped out of it.
"What are you thinking, Lucius? The boy's a coward. It's his fault his death faced him so soon. Don't take this perfect thing so seriously." He continued to the letter.
"Deatheater is not what I wished to be. I guess I was born into the wrong family. True, I used to believe I was the luckiest boy in the wizarding world. I thought I had it all. But I grew up and learned what was going on.
I know you believe your way is the best. Siding with the Dark Lord, joining his army. But look what's happened. I know I probably can't change you. For all I know, you'll probably crumple up this letter. Nothing of you would probably change. You'll never change.
Though I did. I was the one in the Malfoy family to change. You probably think I was just taking the easy way out. No. You have no idea how hard this path is to take. After 16 years of siding with you, of thinking you cared, thinking everyone cared, it's the hardest thing in the world to do. Tearing away from fear that has already taken over you nearly kills you.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. I know you probably think we could have done extraordinary things if we sided with Voldemort, but do you really think it would last long? Even if your side won, how long would it be before Voldemort didn't need you anymore and tortured you to death, just for the entertainment?"
Lucius suddenly stopped breathing. He didn't understand why he was feeling so scared. So empty, so frozen up inside. His eyes continued to read.
"Half the time I write this letter, I don't understand why I'm doing this. I know you won't care. Or understand how I've been feeling all these years. Now I'll never be able to feel again.
All you have felt is evil. Yes, I also felt evil at my school days. I was also jealous of Potter and his stupid friends that often beat me so much at school. Trying to make you proud of me caused me to show off and try to be the best all these years. I tried being evil. From another's eyes, I probably looked like an idiot.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. Now it's too late, my fate's closing in. I'm sorry we couldn't be perfect.
What's the use now, father? You will never understand. You will never get it. At least you now have the chance to change your ways, as why I wrote this. I, I only have one choice, which is death. I must face my death, as early as it came.
Time is closing, and so much this letter.
I must repeat, what's the use?
Your son"
Lusius looked up, around his son's room. It all suddenly looked emptier then before. It looked gray, as if he had suddenly gone colorblind. The letter shriveled up in his fingers and fell to the floor, where it made no sound as it hit the cold stone. For the first time in his life, Lucius's cold eyes were filling with tears.
He stomped as hard as he could on his son's letter, not letting the tears break through. His eyes became dry and cold as ever. His heart blacked more than it did before. He stared angrily out the window, feeling like he should shout. But instead, he gathered everything up and stashed it away like he had come to do in the first place. They didn't need any more of the foolish things that once belonged to a son.
*
Mr. Malfoy walked up the wet hill. There had been a down pour the day before, so the grass was terribly wet. He reached into his pocket, taking out a crumpled up piece of paper, which he buried under the dirt near a grave. His face was expressionless as he read the name on the tombstone: Draco Malfoy. He took out another paper, which he scribbled some once useless words, then he dropped it above the grave. The paper read, "I'm sorry I can't be perfect."
Then and there Lucius Malfoy died when he ran out of tears to cry.
Based on Simple Plan's "Perfect"
.:*:.
Lucius Malfoy went up to his son's bedroom. Well, now he didn't have a son. Draco Malfoy was now dead. It was basically his father's fault. But did he care? No. Not really. At least, not yet.
Draco's room was the same as always. Filled with everything his father had ever given him. That was back in the old days. Lucius had stopped giving him so many things when Draco went off to Hogwarts. He had always thought his son would grow up to be a real Malfoy. Another deatheater for Voldemort, or You-Know-Who for anyone who never spoke his name.
Lucius looked around the empty room. Rain slashed the windows and thumped on the roof loudly. He went to his son's desk, which wasn't used all that often. Usually he just piled things on top of it. Now it was all cleared, except for a piece of parchment and a quill.
"Odd." He said to himself, grabbing the piece of paper. He quickly wished he hadn't.
"Hello father. I will probably be dead when you read this, unless you read it before my twenty four hour limit, but I just wanted to tell you a few things." He read.
"I know I have always led you into believing I was who you wanted me to be. I know you think I'm a coward, as all non-supporters are in your eyes. I used to always want to make you proud, father, but, this just wasn't the way I could go.
Of course, I will die, taking this way. It's not that thrilling to die when you're only sixteen. I really could have done more with my life. Fear lead me on the wrong path. Fear always steered to where I am today, which is death."
Lucius put down the letter for a second, rubbing his face in aggravation. This was the letter Draco wrote before he died. He raised the parchment up so he could read it again.
"I want to let you know, father, that every second of my life I have always thought of you. Whether it was of fear or of greatness. I used to smile when I thought of you. Then I started to wince in fear of what was going to happen to me when I came home. Now, as I write this letter in my last twenty four hours, I feel pity.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. I cannot imagine what would become of me if I did join your path, father. I can't bear to think about it anymore. I used to have nightmares. Terrible nightmares.
Time is passing by quickly. It is hard to write everything you want to say when you're full of panic and fear. Yes, I admit I am afraid. I am about to risk everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect."
Lucius stopped reading, millions of thoughts going through his head, telling his what a terrible person he was, what a terrible path he had chosen, and what a terrible thing he had done. He suddenly snapped out of it.
"What are you thinking, Lucius? The boy's a coward. It's his fault his death faced him so soon. Don't take this perfect thing so seriously." He continued to the letter.
"Deatheater is not what I wished to be. I guess I was born into the wrong family. True, I used to believe I was the luckiest boy in the wizarding world. I thought I had it all. But I grew up and learned what was going on.
I know you believe your way is the best. Siding with the Dark Lord, joining his army. But look what's happened. I know I probably can't change you. For all I know, you'll probably crumple up this letter. Nothing of you would probably change. You'll never change.
Though I did. I was the one in the Malfoy family to change. You probably think I was just taking the easy way out. No. You have no idea how hard this path is to take. After 16 years of siding with you, of thinking you cared, thinking everyone cared, it's the hardest thing in the world to do. Tearing away from fear that has already taken over you nearly kills you.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. I know you probably think we could have done extraordinary things if we sided with Voldemort, but do you really think it would last long? Even if your side won, how long would it be before Voldemort didn't need you anymore and tortured you to death, just for the entertainment?"
Lucius suddenly stopped breathing. He didn't understand why he was feeling so scared. So empty, so frozen up inside. His eyes continued to read.
"Half the time I write this letter, I don't understand why I'm doing this. I know you won't care. Or understand how I've been feeling all these years. Now I'll never be able to feel again.
All you have felt is evil. Yes, I also felt evil at my school days. I was also jealous of Potter and his stupid friends that often beat me so much at school. Trying to make you proud of me caused me to show off and try to be the best all these years. I tried being evil. From another's eyes, I probably looked like an idiot.
I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect. Now it's too late, my fate's closing in. I'm sorry we couldn't be perfect.
What's the use now, father? You will never understand. You will never get it. At least you now have the chance to change your ways, as why I wrote this. I, I only have one choice, which is death. I must face my death, as early as it came.
Time is closing, and so much this letter.
I must repeat, what's the use?
Your son"
Lusius looked up, around his son's room. It all suddenly looked emptier then before. It looked gray, as if he had suddenly gone colorblind. The letter shriveled up in his fingers and fell to the floor, where it made no sound as it hit the cold stone. For the first time in his life, Lucius's cold eyes were filling with tears.
He stomped as hard as he could on his son's letter, not letting the tears break through. His eyes became dry and cold as ever. His heart blacked more than it did before. He stared angrily out the window, feeling like he should shout. But instead, he gathered everything up and stashed it away like he had come to do in the first place. They didn't need any more of the foolish things that once belonged to a son.
*
Mr. Malfoy walked up the wet hill. There had been a down pour the day before, so the grass was terribly wet. He reached into his pocket, taking out a crumpled up piece of paper, which he buried under the dirt near a grave. His face was expressionless as he read the name on the tombstone: Draco Malfoy. He took out another paper, which he scribbled some once useless words, then he dropped it above the grave. The paper read, "I'm sorry I can't be perfect."
Then and there Lucius Malfoy died when he ran out of tears to cry.