Dear Journal,
I am not really sure how this all began.
Or rather where to really start. Its all a mess and a pit of absence in pit of my stomach I wish not to let back out, but here I am, forced to relive it, day in and day out. The witnesses, many people I've seen since I was young. The eyes that saw, that judged, in ways I don't want to discuss.
You can't make me relive it again, I refuse to, I won't.
Always in the same position with my father and the therapist who wants me to
be relaxed.
But I'm tense, I ache, and throb in this dissolution of despair. I have to regurgitate this story over again, although these images I dont know if words can describe.
I guess I would have to start from the beginning.
It was during the time of the war. The death eaters filled our mansion to the brim. Lord Voldemort stayed in the east wing, and we were not to disturb that side. We all abide in fear, I obeying the orders of my father. And he getting direct orders from Snape or from Voldemort himself and so on and so forth.
There were dinners every night over which the death eaters discussed the plans to be done, the terrorist attacks to be committed. I wasn't allowed at these dinners, I had to sit with my mother in the parlor room and just wait in silence until I had a chance to eat and then we would be dismissed again.
This story has to be told to someone. But right now to something. You're lucky the death eaters don't read journal.
This is all around the time my father returned from azkaban. He was less clean cut, unshaven, and all the more paranoid now, and his hugs lingered longer than normal. And by that I mean he use to never hug or touch before.
I was all too frightened of everything now myself, being pulled from school and this feeling a constant unease from Dumbledores death. I tried to confide in mother but, this just increased her worry for me that she had already begun to grow. So I just stayed in my room hoping the pounding in my heart would finally be at ease. That was until the night Father knocked late at night. The sound startled me from my terrible sleep. The darkness stirring as I fumbled to answer the door. I open to find him with his hair disheveled and pleading eyes, The candles behind him and I glowing off our steel cold expressions.
"Draco, I need a word." I let him in and he shut the door behind.
