After a fourth year spent at Hogwarts
The fine sands of Sleep stayed away
On this lonely night
Bustling thoughts were fruitlessly trying to find a quay
Far from Despair's plight
The latter was one of the roughest seas
Even the most courageous of men sailed away from
Indeed, sailing in it was not a breeze
As countless times before, it slashed Joy's bosom
Once more, Draco was drenched in the silence of Malfoy Manor. It was past midnight, and his parents had long since retired to bed. He sat sprawled on the middle steps of the large, antique wooden staircase with the beautiful cast iron baluster; his blond head touched the steps behind him. Just in front of him, on the landing, was a stained glass window depicting the impressive dragon, Lydian Hydras, in his dying glory; the same dragon that was on the family crest.
Draco's silver-grey eyes with the eerie splashes of deep blue were focused on the candle-lit, crystal chandelier decorating the ceiling of the landing. Another flight of the spiral stairs led down to the spacious living room. His parents' room was on the ground floor, whilst he had the first floor entirely for himself. The Malfoys had always been rich.
Draco found sleep elusive this particular night. In fact, he had not been able to sleep well ever since he had been back from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He could not switch his mind off, it seemed, for all kinds of thoughts were running around in his head over and over again. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. He forced his mind away from the dark thoughts and found himself reflecting on Lydian.
Lydian, who had died because he had dared give in to the weakness of love. Voldemort, too, had been reduced to a wretched state after having been defeated by a power he could not understand; love. In both cases, love had proven to be the cause of their downfalls. However, Lydian had had the power to save himself, but he had chosen death, whilst Voldemort chose to return. Lydian had let himself be destroyed completely, but Voldemort, not so.
Had Lydian deserved what he got? After all, he had killed the family of the witch he had fallen in love with! His soul had been tainted; how could he possibly have expected to live a happy life? And were his descendants condemned to suffer the sins he had been responsible for? If the Malfoys were the descendants of Lydian Hydras, weren't they also the descendants of that innocent witch? But the witch had in turn exacted revenge by killing Hydras. That might explain why the Malfoys, from one generation to the other, have always had a murky cloud over their heads. Indeed, Draco does not remember when he had once laughed out of sheer heart-warming happiness. That might never have happened. It might not happen at all in his lifetime.
Draco sighed, watching the candles flicker in the chandelier. There was an uneasy, suffocating feeling in his chest that he could not quite get rid of. He slowly got up to his feet, tall and very handsome. He had not changed into his sleeping clothes yet and was still clad in his black jeans and black shirt. Draco combed his fingers through his blond hair as he climbed up the spiral stairs.
As was the case whenever he was home, the glass pane separating the balcony from his room was opened wide. Gusts of wind swept inside his room, battering the fire at the hearth. Sirin's head turned as she looked at the attractive, but distraught, teenager that had come inside. The lovely eagle owl was poised on the crystal table where Draco's school materials lay. Draco could feel the warm, affectionate vibes emanating from his pet, and he walked across the room, drawing the chair to sit at his table. He lifted his hand to pat Sirin's head, and the eagle owl nipped at his hand fondly.
Draco stared at the night black diary that was still unopened on the table. He had taken it out from behind the Lighthouse painting hours ago, but had not brought himself to write in it yet. Indeed, to be able to write, he would have to blank his mind first, and then let the words flow from deep inside of him. However, right now, he could not quite achieve that. He could not quite block the thoughts that were racing in his head. Writing his thoughts down was something of an exorcism for him. If he did not write and bare his mind on paper, he often felt as if his thoughts would destroy him. Since he was not the kind to confide in friends, his diary fulfilled that role.
Getting up abruptly, Draco walked to the sliding glass pane and closed it. He had never been sensitive to the cold, but the chilly night air seemed to be getting to him. The fire at the hearth at once ceased flickering harshly and now cackled languidly in the stillness of the room. Draco sat back down at his table and opened his diary.
It has not really been a great year, Diary. I feel somewhat messed up inside of me. I do not really know from where to begin. But as they say, when you are in doubt, look at the source of things. So, I think it best to start from the very beginning, a few days before my fourth year at Hogwarts.
I remember writing down the last time how excited I was that the Quidditch World Cup was going to start soon. Well, I did go to the World Cup alongside my parents. We sat with Cornelius Fudge, and I even had the opportunity to boast in front of the Weasleys. The bunch usually expect jibes from me, and it would have seemed unusual if I didn't gratify their expectations; only then would their happy little world appear normal.
And Granger was with them too. Oh, I better leave that subject till later.
But then, after the celebrations, something happened. People started panicking, and Muggles were being attacked. Father was getting truly distressed. He kept rubbing at his hands and would not answer my questions. He wanted us to hurry home as fast as possible, but I happened to see a small Muggle child who had been bewitched to hang in the air about a hundred metres away. Nobody was really paying attention to her. I just dashed in her direction. It was bizarre but I did not really think about what I was doing.
In the fray, I lost sight of both Father and Mother. The place was real chaos - tents were on fire, and people were screaming and stampeding all over the place. The Dark Mark had appeared in the sky.
I jumped and reached out to the terrified child. Her Muggle parents ran in my direction and snatched her from me before making for the woods. The Ministry would have some troubles putting memory charms on all those Muggles, I thought at that time.
I knew that Death Eaters, back in the times of Voldemort, used to cast the Dark Mark in the sky, but I first thought it could have been a prank of someone. There was no way Voldemort could have returned. But then I saw the dark hooded individuals swooshing around the place. They had to be Death Eaters, and they would not only be after Muggles but Muggle-borns as well.
Granger's face flashed into my mind then. I remembered seeing her with the Weasleys and Potter. They would be able to protect her, but still, I wanted to make sure she was alright. Just then, I spotted them looking distraught and not really understanding what was happening.
It was time to act again. With a beating heart, I leaned against a tree to fake nonchalance as I tried warning them. They did not acknowledge it, but I succeeded in cautioning them! They would not take the risk of hanging there when they had Granger with them.
There were more Muggles being attacked, but I was not given any opportunity to intervene, even stealthily, as Father snatched one of my arms and that of mother's as we returned home via a Portkey.
It was the first time I had seen Father that anxious. I knew there was something on his mind that he was not willing to tell me. I was pretty damn sure it had to do with the Death Eaters. I was ordered to my room as he and Mother retired to their own room. I could hear them talk in lively tones, but then the sounds suddenly became muted. It was very likely that Father had put a 'Mutendo' spell on the room so that no sound escaped.
In the morning after the World Cup incident, I tried asking Father if he knew something, but he avoided the question by telling me about the Triwizard Tournament that was going to take place that year. I did not press the matter with him as it seemed to distress him even more.
And then, the summer holidays came to an end, and I went back to Hogwarts. The school welcomed the Triwizard champions and a queer individual had appeared on the scene - Alastor Moody; at least, everybody was fooled into thinking that it was the Professor Moody and not Barty Crouch Jr. as everybody later learned.
Even as Dumbledore introduced him, many could tell there was something not quite right with the guy; never mind his rotating, all-seeing eye. I hated him, but I'll come to that later.
First, our dear foe Potter was chosen as a Triwizard champion! As much as I believe him to be a stupid show off, I still believed he could not have willingly put his name in the cup as the tournament was a very dangerous one, and he was still not of the required age to participate. It was immediately obvious that the other stupid head, Weasley, did not trust his friend when the latter explained to him that he had not put his name there. There was silly Weasley flashing his insecurities to everyone!
It was quite intriguing, and if not clear to others, clear to me that somebody was after Potter's skin. Nonetheless, Potter being chosen by the cup gave us, in Slytherin, another source of entertainment. Ah, the badge 'Support Cedric Diggory', and when tapped flashing 'Potter Stinks'. It was all for a good laugh, really!
Had to be nasty to Granger, of course. It did not give me any pleasure; it never has, but that too, is expected from Malfoy. Insult Granger, and lower yourself in her eyes to the point that she ends up not giving you any importance anymore; to the point you become merely an unpleasant git with no power to hurt.
And then, there was the first of the three "taches", as the girls from Beauxbaton say. The first task was one involving dragons. I loathed it. I hate seeing animals used for the silly entertainment of wizards! The dragons were chained and had to protect eggs. Krum, the Durmstrang champion, used a Conjunctivitis Curse on the unfortunate animal. I would have sworn aloud at him if I did not hear Hagrid shouting over everybody else against Krum; giving Professor McGonagall a difficult time restraining him. Never thought I would have one thing in common with that big oaf!
Mad-Eye Moody came on the scene after that. Potter had dared insulting my mother. It did not really matter to me, for people like Potty do not know how to insult others. Still, I wanted to scare him off with a spell that was purposefully meant to miss him. Just then, that despicable Mad-Eye came on the scene. There I was, towering over many of the students, and a second later, I was at eye level with the green grass and being bounced up and down for the amusement of others!
I dimly registered that I had been transfigured by Mad-Eye, and then, McGonagall intervened. Moody had had to return me to my human form. If that is what it feels to be a ferret, I think I'd sympathise with that specie the rest of my life.
I don't think I've ever felt as humiliated as I had been then. It did not matter that everybody was laughing; even the Slytherins were having difficulties hiding their giggles. But I did see Granger smile. It made me even more furious and mortified. The pain was nothing.
At the next opportunity I got, Potty and I fired hexes at each other but as they connected in the air, misfired. Mine had, unwittingly, hit Granger. Pansy was laughing like mad. It took me all my determination not to rush over to Hermione! I was not amused the least bit. In the end, she was okay, just a bit shaken and had to go to Madame Pomfrey's to have her teeth returned to normal. I did not like seeing her in tears!
Then came the Yule Ball. Granger was magnificent. It did not surprise me, but I was momentarily lost for words. Even if she was Muggle-born, she had always seemed cute to me. This time, even her friends acknowledged how breathtaking she truly is. I tried to get rid of Pansy whenever I could and stayed in the shadows, watching Granger dance with the dunce, Krum. It was the first time I experienced real jealousy. Weasel did not seem very happy either, and in the end managed to upset Granger who clearly would have wished Weasel to accompany her.
She seemed to have truly forgotten about me. It was also the first time I was regretting the use of the 'Obliviate' spell.
Pity I did not have a Time-Turner… If I did, that night it would have been Granger with me in the old tower, not Pansy. I would have showed shooting stars to Granger, not Pansy. I played the violin for Pansy that night, whilst picturing that it was Hermione with me, in the old, abandoned tower…
Pansy is nice enough when she is not being nasty to Muggle-borns! It was an ordinary composition that I made up on the spur of the moment. I guess Pansy was very surprised to know I could play the violin. I had to transfigure a fallen brick into a one in order to be able to do so. Pansy was, indeed, quite ecstatic to have me playing for her; nevermind the unremarkable-ness of the tune in question!
Later that night, when Pansy had gone back to sleep, I returned to the derelict tower. I just could not shrug off Granger's face from my mind. To kill time, I started playing; losing all notion of time, as was usually the case whenever I happened to have a violin in hand. When dawn came, I had finished composing a tune - 'Forbidden Escapade'. It is a name fitting enough for the brief but unforgettable moment Granger and I shared about a year ago, on that exact same date, in the same abandoned tower.
I wished Granger was with me. But if she had been there, I'm afraid this Draco would not have been brave enough to put another 'Obliviate' spell on her. And then, who was to say Granger would have liked to be with me? She has forgotten about me. She did not feel the love that I'd been feeling - that I am feeling. I've pushed her in Weasel's arms, and for me she will stay a dream, a bittersweet yearning; an unquenchable thirst for something forbidden. However, I'll have to forget about her soon enough. These thoughts in my mind are more dangerous than ever. They'll be even more dangerous for those around me.
Sometime after the Triwizard champions had been selected, Rita Skeeter, the scoop-hungry Daily Prophet reporter, was approaching students to ask them tidbits of insider information. I did not mind feeding her already voracious appetite for reporting false news. It was all for fun sake, and it was an interesting, insightful exercise. Some day, when I have my own magazine, she will be the type of reporter who will stay forever jobless. She is the type of journalist who makes false news appear spicy whilst real happenings, for her, hold no appeal. That is where she wastes her writing talents; if she happens to have any. She does not seem to understand that real facts, instead of fabricated ones, are the most interesting!
In the end, it was no other than clever Granger who figured out that Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus; a beetle! Couldn't resist praising her then, and it caught me off guard. But I quickly disguised what I let slip by making an unfavourable allusion to Cedric Diggory. I knew it was going to end up with me covered in hexes, but I fully deserved that.
Dead Diggory. Potter gave everyone quite a shock when he came out of the labyrinth with the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory. He was killed on the orders of Voldemort. Potter kept saying that Voldemort had returned. Many would not believe him; anxious as they were not to come out of their comfortable bubbles.
I know better.
Father has rejoined the Death Eaters.
It came as something of a shock to me. I did not realize the full extent of what it implicated to be a Death Eater. It just seemed something so remote, until our lives changed overnight. Father never talked about his activities as a Death Eater before. However, when I came back from Hogwarts, I had to ask him what happened back in the graveyard where Potter and Diggory had been transported via the tampered Triwizard cup, and what his being a Death Eater truly meant.
Back at school, I had refused to toast to Diggory's memory because it did not seem the thing to do for me. If Voldemort had returned, it would have meant that Father had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters once again. I was already stained if that was the case, so how could I pretend I could coolly raise my cup in the memory of the dead one? Crabbe and Goyle seemed to misinterpret that as my approval of Diggory's death! They are truly very dense! If I had wanted Cedric killed, why would I have come up with the badge asking people to support Diggory and ditch Potter?
Had father seen Diggory being killed? How could he have allowed that to happen? What did being a Death Eater really mean? Why the hell had I contented myself with the knowledge that Dad had been a Death Eater? Why had not I asked him what he used to do under Voldemort's order? Such were the questions that kept churning in my head. How could all of those sitting in that Great Hall accept that one of them had died so easily? It then struck me that I had not asked because I feared the answer. I had to stop living in a bubble as well.
And the first thing that I asked father when I reached home was how he could have allowed Voldemort to kill Diggory! It was not necessary to ask whether he had joined the Death Eaters. The shadow of fear on his face was enough to confirm what I suspected. Once father started talking, he could not stop. He told me about the horrors he had done when he had been with Voldemort all those years back. The bubble around me disappeared forever, in an excruciating silence.
Diggory had already been killed even before the Death Eaters had been summoned to Voldemort. But father confessed that, had he been there when Diggory was killed, he would have done nothing to prevent it. That answer devastated me. He explained how once you are a Death Eater, you cannot go to not being one, and nobody ever dares to go against the Dark Lord. Others that had not responded to the call such as Igor Karkaroff would be paying with their lives, he said.
Father confessed he used to torture Muggles. At that point, I wanted to throw up as he continued with the horrid descriptions. He said he had angered the Dark Lord when he had not responded to the Dark Mark late summer, at the Quidditch World Cup, and Voldemort seemed to hold that against him; alongside the fact that the Malfoys were among the first families to join the other side.
When he finished, I sat there in shock until Mother came over to me and asked me to regain my room. She said she will not have me implicated in these matters and that I need not think about this. She also warned me not to associate with Muggle-borns and the blood traitors for the umpteenth time.
I could not say anything. I did not know what to say. I know convincing Father to leave the ranks of the Death Eaters would be futile and stupid. It would be like telling him to write his own death note.
But what could I do? I did not choose to be born in a family that had once been Death Eaters as they are again now; although it is now very much part of my identity! I disapprove of who Voldemort is and the ignominious things he does, but how could I possibly prevent Father from joining his ranks without Mother and him being at risk of their lives?
I feel so bad and powerless. I am very much tempted to join those fighting Voldemort; even if that means associating with despicable Potters and the likes! How dare they complain that their life is difficult when they have the freedom to choose their sides? How can they complain when they are not having to compromise with their conscience by freely fighting against Voldemort? I've always taunted Weasley as being from a wretched family, but at least he is fully behind his family in their stance against Voldemort.
I am on the wrong side, and the best I can do is fight by staying on the wrong side; helping those against Voldemort stealthily. We'll see how things turn out.
Until next year, it is Goodbye and Adieu from me.
End Notes: It seems to be a downhill trek for Draco where his feelings are concerned...will he survive it?
