Life. What is it?
Free will ... is that something all people must have?
If that is to be, then I consider myself plundered.
Abused.
Owned.
Torn.
I understand pain and suffering. I have been through it, after all. Always experiencing it like it was so normal in my existence to bear it.
Like darkness. Evil. They come to me as everyday aspects, I am not new to them, not innocent.
Nor am I unscathed from them.
I know. I'm an ass. I strut around like I own the place, I'm a brat, I feel like I'm the best. But being evil does not mean having to join their forces.
I was shoved into this war. A choice made for me, it was, no asking if I want it.
I know my father has made this choice, not for me, but for his own, selfish ... No, I'll take it back. My father, Lucius Malfoy, handed me to his master for Lord Voldemort's own measures, to show how faithful he was to the Dark Order. He gave up his own flesh and blood, his first-born and only son ... because, the irony of it, he was not enough for his master.
Fool. Bastard. Jackass.
You know what's bull? I don't hate him for it.
He was thrust into this as I had. Only, it was his will, that time. Now, he isn't is own anymore.
I tried to fight it, of course. Tried. Failed.
You can never imagine ... fear grips your heart like a vice, chokes you. Hope flees, kisses your ass goodbye. It only leaves you shivering, nothing but a trembling frightened empty shell, only his, to serve him as he pleases.
He feeds on your fears ... chews you to the marrow by just his chilling presence. Seeing him ... the feeling is like being a bouncing Dalmatian, full of life, who suddenly notices a person who is revoltingly evil, but at the same time, undeniably powerful. And what comes after that? You tie a choker on your goddamned neck, leash yourself in chains of bondage you can't brake, won't because it will displease him, and hands the handle to him, head bowed because you can't take him looking at you and knowing how afraid you are of him, kneeling pitifully.
Helpless in your own volition. Hopeless by your will.
Sometimes, I wonder then why I was even considering hating my father.
He was a prisoner of his master. A slave. Submissive.
I will never become that.
So I fought a losing battle. Silently, waiting, just simply waiting for my salvation, because, frankly, I can't win my own wars, if of the Dark Lord.
I am never going to acknowledge him as my Master.
I looked down at my left arm, staring at the skull, and the serpent. A mistake I knew so well, yet I did not commit.
The Dark Mark.
I traced it with my finger, feeling it. It was etched, imprinted deep in the flesh, pronouncing my loyalty that never really was his. Come on, I may be a bad boy, I may hate Harry Potter, but that doesn't have to mean that I want to embrace Voldemort too, and kiss his fucking ass.
I pressed the Mark, feeling it sting. I winced slightly, nothing more than an almost conspicuous twitching of the lips. Not that anyone would notice, I am alone in my Slytherin Dorm. I turned my attention back to my left arm. Ah, yes, the Dark Mark, empty sockets glaring at me, that skull with the serpentine tongue. I remembered so well how it burned, the way the agony ate to my very being by just receiving it. And ... knowing what torment it will bring the people The Dark Lord despised.
Harry Potter being on the top list, of course.
I took out my wand using my left hand, my right palm still resting on the imperfection on my flesh. I twirled it in my fingers.
I would challenge Harry Potter tonight.
I sighed. I know what this will bring. If I lost, I'll be dead, either in the hands of Voldemort, or by the Boy they call 'His downfall'. If I win ... redemption of what my father had sold to the inevitable : My soul.
And probably, I thought ruefully, bring shame to the precious Malfoy name.
My eyes hardened. No worries, no backing down. Mark or no Mark, tonight is Harry Potter's facedown with me. My showdown.
I smiled.
Everything hurt. Mind, body, soul.
I was defeated, I knew that instinctively, but I won't recognize it. So, I try to stand, wand still clutched in my right hand.
I fell.
Arms reached out to catch me. I smirked, imagining how I looked.
"It will be okay, Draco." It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore.
It was the last thing I heard as I attempted to nod, and I lay passive, keeling over in a melodramatic heap.
Freedom, at last.
Or is it?
In a world like mine ... in a society I've grown up with ...
It's too late.
... That's what's going on
Nothing's right; I'm torn
I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I'm ashamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changes
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see
The perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn ...