A/N. Draco. Depression. La-di-da. For, um, my friends, who understand that there is more to me than me.




Dark.

In many, the word casts a fear. In others, a hunger. To some, it has no effect. Perhaps this is the best way. They say ignorance is bliss.

But I know the true meaning of the word.

The true meaning is me. Draco Malfoy.

It may sound concieted, but it is true. I am dark. I am pain. I am evil. I am hate.

And yet I'm not, not completely. There is still a part of me, however long dormant, that longs for love, for life. A longing that shall never be fulfilled.

My father saw it, years ago. He was not pleased. "You're a Malfoy, boy," he said icily. "You should be bloody grateful." He beat me as he did my mother.

Damn you, Father. But you needn't be damned. You have already signed the Devil's book. And now you are rotting in Hell because of it.

And I am rotting in my mind. Dying in the madness of my thoughts. Do you know of my nightmares, Father? Of the horrible dreams that come in the blackest of night? Of the horrifying recollections of the night you died next to me? Died of my own hand, my own knife? Of course not.

I tell myself you deserved it. Horrible slime of a man that you were. And I know I'm right. I know that you would have killed me that night, if I had not killed you first.

But that does not stop the nightmares.

And killing someone is a lot of weight on a person's shoulders. I was but sixteen. Nearly ten years late, I cannot shake the image of your body, pooled in blood, out of my mind.

I force myself to stop thinking of my father. He is naught to me now.

My mind shifts to Potter. Eight years after Hogwarts, he still has his best friends, and others. I have no one. I am alone.

But then, I always was.

And yet, who defeated Voldemort? Was it Potter, famous Potter? No, it was I.

Yes. I defeated Voldemort, my father's master. In Harry Potter's stead. I suppose I thought I was like Potter. Both of us rich and parentless. I convinced him to let me go instead of him.

Then I killed Voldemort once and for all. I knew all his secrets. It wasn't hard.

But I was wrongf about Potter. We weren't the same. He had love. And so everyone believed he had killed Voldemort. And he let them.

People are chickencrap.

I was Head Boy at Hogwarts. With Granger as Head Girl. She hated every moment of it, every moment of me. I didn't really hate her. But she hated me.

No one hated me. Everyone hated Draco. I geuss that makes no sense. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy, or Lucius, or the cold boy in Slytherin. They didn't know me. They will never know me.

And they will never have the chance. Because today is the day. The day the sun no longer shines. The day the only light comes from the fires of hell. The day the heart stops beating.

For me, anyway.

Because today is the last day of my life.

I stand alone atop the hill. Though the sun shines, I am cold.

I am alone and cold, inside and out.

And no one knows me. No one ever, ever will. They had a chance. All of them. But they simply found it easier to ignore me, to pretend that who they thought I was was really me.

Perhaps if someone had seen beyond that...

But no one did.

And now I have no name.

I lift the dagger and brace myself for the pain.


I am forever cold.

I am forever alone.

And I am forever nameless.