Umm, hi, I guess.
I am 14-years-old nerdy fandomistic girl from Israel so I wrote it in Hebrew and than translated into English cause I thought it would sound better (and it is).
So I wanted to share it with some people and signed up here.
Sorry if there will be any mistakes with tenses and words and stuff. Hope you'll enjoy it and read it and I'll be grateful if you'll leave me a comment.
"Draco."
Draco turned. Behind him stood his father, Lucius, looking at him with a blaming look. The little flame in the fireplace - which they must light up by themselves now when Dobby is free – gives a little glimmer to his cold, almost white, blond hair.
"You are doing it again." A monotonic voice. Lifeless.
Draco learned to adore this voice, which's full of self-confidence. The voice nothing will stand on its way.
"Please forgive me, father. I can't control it."
"Drawing the clearest sign of the Dark Lord's worst enemy. Do you think it can be forgiven?"
"F… father…"
"If I see you doing it again, you can be sure Dobby got better attitude."
"Yes, father."
"I want to believe that it's only a passing madness. That my son isn't joining the side of saint Harry Potter," Lucius spitted the word. "Turns his back to the Dark Lord and the noble Malfoy family for the filthy mudblood's son."
The fire turned off.
"I will never let you down, father."
Lucius turned and went away from there, his stick knocking on the endless stone floor.
Draco passed his legs to the sofa and put his face between them. He hugged his knees to his chest and groaned. He felt cold. So cold…
He remembered that day at the robes shop. It was two years ago, but the memory was still and fresh in his mind.
A short, skinny, shy boy with an alive, black messy hair – which stood in full opposition to Draco's – entered the shop with his head down, a corner of glass-frame hardly visible below his pony.
The shy boy raised his head and showed his green eyes to the lamp-light, and suddenly Draco wanted to be close to him. He wanted it so badly.
Sometimes, people say that complete differences attracted each other, like electric charges, like his father who's found his mother and married her when there was no choice left.
And then, Madam Malkin put them one by the other and Draco asked the boy questions and told him stories that it was obvious that the boy didn't understood what the hell he is taking about. Draco was sure that the boy is a muggleborn, who are a filthy wizard kind, that's what he learned. He had no idea about who this boy really was, no idea that he was much more than that.
Draco knew that he must stop talking to the boy. Who's his pony is almost until his eyes and covering his forehead completely. But the boy was… nice. Well, it was nice to bragging on him with knowledge, too.
And at Hogwarts, later. Draco tried, he tried to suggest the boy to choose his friends carefully after he saw that the boy, who's he already knew who he was, hanging around with a Weasley. Weasleys are completely forbidden if he still want his father ever talk to him again – which was about Harry too, actually.
But anyway Harry chose the Weasley, and in this choice ended the chances to win Harry, who was not a mudblood but worse than that.
Draco swore that his father will never ever hear about this.
But after Harry chose the Weasley Draco was so angry. "The one that fight is the one who's in love" - and that's what he was. He was a lover boy who doesn't know how to hide the fact that he's in love, nor how to deal with it and with the fact that came with it, which is he's a gay. Draco was a twelve-year-old boy who doesn't know how to deal with all those emotions he had suddenly, because he never knew such emotions. The strong, sure, head figure of his father never showed them.
'You must not show love. Love is a blinding emotion'. Lucius always told him to be proud of his bright, pure hair and skin, which are pointing on his connection to a spotlessly pure blood family and lineage. Love can make people blind and make them betray their pureness; make them to do defective children in foreknowledge. So many wizards made that mistake, so many got blind for such an inferior target. For such an inferior emotion…
And Draco was one of them.
Draco loved Harry Potter. Still, although all the denying and ignoring and cruelty.
'It can still change,' he thought while his tears stained the sofa. 'You will be better than this. You will win it. You…'
"You are your father's son," he whispered to himself. 'You have to win it.'
He will never be able to go in Dumbledore's way, the way of the old man who should have died a long time ago. The old man with so much hair, with so much white hair, whiter even than Draco's. But the pureness of that old man has been damaged, that Draco must believe. Father is right, father is always rights, and when you are not listening to father bad things happens.
"You are a pure blood," and you will never be like those blood betrayers, those weasleys who love what they mustn't. You are Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy, and love doesn't have a place in your heart. You hate Harry Potter. You are a Malfoy."