A/N: woo! Answers all around! Pretty boring chapter, but you needed to get some background knowledge sometime. :/
The weather was conveniently melancholy. Thick gray clouds blanketed the sky letting only thread-like rays of sunshine through to light the world below it. Rain beat hard against the house making empty threats at the two wizards within while the thunder and lightening were caught in a passionate battle of light and sound. The wind was relentless; any hint of content, any upward twitch of the mouth, any happy word, was quickly stolen away by a gust with an intimidating declaration of envy. Every once and a while, the mess outside would subdue to sad, calm tears that dripped down the glass on the windows slowly and apologetically. Sunlight was briefly allowed to shine down and remind the earth that there was something to look forward to just before the cruel wind pushed its way back through. The storm was just as confused as anyone.
Glossy brown eyes were glued to the thin, blonde boy who sat reclining on his bed with a glass of water in one hand and a cracker in the other. The cracker had been there for over fifteen minutes and had only shrunken by a few nibbles. Neither of the brains in that room was processing anything related to the immediate present; they had dug themselves too deep into memory.
The recently repressed thoughts that had haunted Hermione's subconscious in her cell in Knockturn Alley had found their way back. The faded images of her smiling parents' faces were quickly replaced with the blank, dead ones that had tattooed themselves to the back of her eyelids. It was too horrible to be true.
Without thinking, they had boarded the Hogwarts Express along with numerous other families to 'rescue' their children from the attack happening on the grounds. They were accompanied by a few other muggle families who were not aware of the damage magic could cause. Upon arrival, panic struck. They ran, screaming for their daughter, through the chaos. After hours of tears and raspy screams, they spotted her. She appeared dead. Their heartbroken wails shot over the screams of those around them.
Hermione had resurfaced from unconsciousness to see her parents kneeling on either side of her with wet faces and grateful smiles. She was kissed on the head more times than she could count. "I love y—," her father's words were interrupted by Death's elegant scythe. 'Avada kedavra' was repeated and green light swallowed Hermione's mother as she fell into her lap. That was too fast…they couldn't actually be dead already. Hermione fearfully struck her mom in the back. "This isn't fair…THIS ISN'T FAIR!" A laugh poured out of the hood and down the front of the black cloak that stood in front of Hermione, void of identity. It pointed its wand straight at Hermione. She could hear the breath escape its mouth like it was about to speak but it no sooner fell to its feet to reveal a vengeful Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione, dear!" Her expression changed quickly from one of relief to one of terror. "HERMIONE! BEHIND YOU!" Three hooded figures picked her up from the floor and pulled her through the corpse fields.
A tear escaped from her unmoving eyes and rolled down the contour of her face. Draco still hadn't moved. His mind was filled less with the memory of events and more with the memory of emotions. His parents were so disappointed with him. He tried, he truly did, but there was nothing he could do to gain any sort of respect from them. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, to make him look good, to become the Dark Lords most praised servant. Also, along with Narcissa, he wanted an heir; a beautiful, pure blood boy to carry on the Malfoy name and keep it in high esteem. Neither parent had ever trusted him to come through. He was a 'coward,' 'weak'.
He'd tried many times to explain that he was only eighteen; he had a hundred-plus years ahead of him…he wasn't ready to get married and have a child. "No Draco, you just know there isn't anyone willing," his mother would reply angrily.
He had no moral arguments against becoming a Death Eater; he'd been socialized into thinking muggleborns and muts were lower than him. The seed was planted in him young and it had sprouted quickly and grown into a huge, empowering tree but the responsibilities associated with such were annoying. Draco wanted to answer to himself, not to the personality of a corrupted little boy who had turned himself into a monster. He would have to tear himself away from his life at any given moment just because his forearm started to burn, have to waste his energy on killing things he had no connection with, to ask for permission before doing everything. It seemed like pure masochism. There weren't even any justifying benefits.
He'd planned on joining anyway, to please his father, but he was procrastinating. He hadn't killed a muggle/muggleborn yet and he was reminded of it daily. Last night there had been a Death Eater meeting and the question of Draco's loyalty had been brought up. To Lucius, this was disgraceful and he saw fit to make Draco know that.
A hand and a cracker dropped down to trace the cut in his stomach. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure who he hated more…his father or himself.
It wasn't the kind of self-hate one is most familiar with; he didn't hate himself as an entity, but who he was…where he was born, how he was raised, his money, his name, his motivations, his life. He dreaded waking up every morning to a familiar room in a familiar house with familiar people. He craved something different, something controversial, something exciting. He wanted fear instilled in him. Not the fear that was already there, the fear of knowing what would happen if he did something wrong, but rather, the fear of not knowing. He wanted a blank future that he could fill with whatever he felt.
Draco set the glass of water on the stand next to him, finished his cracker in one bite and left the room.
