A/N: Um, yeah, this is a fic about Draco, in which he truly finds himself
and what kind of person he is, leaving him uninfluenced by his father's
past.
It was a few days before Draco Malfoy would be heading back to his school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, there were many reasons he did not want to return. One of which was the fact that his father had received the Dementor's Kiss for his deeds as a Death Eater. Yes, Draco did at one time feel the need for vengeance against Potter, but that feeling had passed.
Draco was looking out the window of the large Malfoy estate, his mother cooking dinner downstairs in a mechanical fashion, for the death of his father had upset her so. Draco's feelings had changed somewhat, as he overlooked the field his house was upon. Draco never really loved his father, never even liked him. He was scared into respecting him and he found himself talking of his father proudly in the midst of any peers. But those were not his true feelings. He loathed his father, the way he treated others, but Draco loathed himself, too, for not being strong enough to tell his father off.
His mother was a good woman, never really popular in her day, but was a rare beauty as well as a good student. Draco loved and truly respected his mother, especially for her coping with Lucius's temper. Why hadn't she left. . .
"Draco, dear, dinner!", his mother called up in a smooth voice.
"Coming. . .", Draco answered reluctantly.
He wasn't really hungry. He sat down in a plush, burgundy chair, and looked around him. There were countless heirlooms, rugs, paintings, books, and other things that had not been touched or used in years. Pureblood rubbish was how Draco would refer to them, though not in public. Perhaps this was why he was so close to Professor Snape. Snape understood the feeling of not belonging, not wanting part in the malevolent ways of friends. Sure, Draco was popular, but he felt so dishonest when he was with his friends lately. He felt he was being stifled and shut up. It was the worst feeling in the world for him.
"Draco! Your dinner is getting cold!", his mother called up again.
"Fine, mum!", Draco said exasperatedly, and ran down the stairs to a black marble kitchen.
Everything was black, or green, or silver. Draco was sick of it. This was the most Slytherin household on this earth, he was sure. He walked to the cherry wood table to eat some odd soup his mother had made. 'Blasted family recipes', he thought.
Draco must've been scowling, for Narcissa looked at him with concerned gray eyes.
"You have been thinking about your father, haven't you?", she asked, almost too sweet.
"Yeah.", Draco lied. He didn't want to tell her that he was questioning himself, for that would worry her more.
"I know you weren't very close to him, but that was his fault. He never let you get close. You shouldn't dwell on it, love. He wasn't perfect, you don't have to be.", his mother said, comforting him.
Draco really didn't want to hear this. He'd rather give Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup while bowing to Weasley. Sure, he was considering getting the Dark Mark, for maybe, just maybe, he could make his father proud, along with the rest of Slytherin. As much as he disliked his father, he wanted so badly for the sign of acceptance from his dad. He longed for it, but only got such comforts from Snape. Yet, he had decided to wait until he was eighteen, if he, in fact, really wanted the Dark Mark. His mother had been trying to tell him not to do so, ever since his father's capture. Snape had been telling him since he entered in First year not to let the dark side overpower him.
Yet, Draco's father never objected to involvement with Voldemort. Draco always knew that his father was a Death Eater, and he never really saw anything wrong with it until his father was thrown into Azkaban, seeing that his father was paying for what influence Voldemort had. But if joining Voldemort was the only way to make his father proud, then Draco didn't care what cost there was.
A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter! I just don't want to write too much too soon. Reviews would be great(wink wink, nudge nudge)! Um, just tell me what you think. The more reviews, the sooner I'll write!
It was a few days before Draco Malfoy would be heading back to his school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, there were many reasons he did not want to return. One of which was the fact that his father had received the Dementor's Kiss for his deeds as a Death Eater. Yes, Draco did at one time feel the need for vengeance against Potter, but that feeling had passed.
Draco was looking out the window of the large Malfoy estate, his mother cooking dinner downstairs in a mechanical fashion, for the death of his father had upset her so. Draco's feelings had changed somewhat, as he overlooked the field his house was upon. Draco never really loved his father, never even liked him. He was scared into respecting him and he found himself talking of his father proudly in the midst of any peers. But those were not his true feelings. He loathed his father, the way he treated others, but Draco loathed himself, too, for not being strong enough to tell his father off.
His mother was a good woman, never really popular in her day, but was a rare beauty as well as a good student. Draco loved and truly respected his mother, especially for her coping with Lucius's temper. Why hadn't she left. . .
"Draco, dear, dinner!", his mother called up in a smooth voice.
"Coming. . .", Draco answered reluctantly.
He wasn't really hungry. He sat down in a plush, burgundy chair, and looked around him. There were countless heirlooms, rugs, paintings, books, and other things that had not been touched or used in years. Pureblood rubbish was how Draco would refer to them, though not in public. Perhaps this was why he was so close to Professor Snape. Snape understood the feeling of not belonging, not wanting part in the malevolent ways of friends. Sure, Draco was popular, but he felt so dishonest when he was with his friends lately. He felt he was being stifled and shut up. It was the worst feeling in the world for him.
"Draco! Your dinner is getting cold!", his mother called up again.
"Fine, mum!", Draco said exasperatedly, and ran down the stairs to a black marble kitchen.
Everything was black, or green, or silver. Draco was sick of it. This was the most Slytherin household on this earth, he was sure. He walked to the cherry wood table to eat some odd soup his mother had made. 'Blasted family recipes', he thought.
Draco must've been scowling, for Narcissa looked at him with concerned gray eyes.
"You have been thinking about your father, haven't you?", she asked, almost too sweet.
"Yeah.", Draco lied. He didn't want to tell her that he was questioning himself, for that would worry her more.
"I know you weren't very close to him, but that was his fault. He never let you get close. You shouldn't dwell on it, love. He wasn't perfect, you don't have to be.", his mother said, comforting him.
Draco really didn't want to hear this. He'd rather give Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup while bowing to Weasley. Sure, he was considering getting the Dark Mark, for maybe, just maybe, he could make his father proud, along with the rest of Slytherin. As much as he disliked his father, he wanted so badly for the sign of acceptance from his dad. He longed for it, but only got such comforts from Snape. Yet, he had decided to wait until he was eighteen, if he, in fact, really wanted the Dark Mark. His mother had been trying to tell him not to do so, ever since his father's capture. Snape had been telling him since he entered in First year not to let the dark side overpower him.
Yet, Draco's father never objected to involvement with Voldemort. Draco always knew that his father was a Death Eater, and he never really saw anything wrong with it until his father was thrown into Azkaban, seeing that his father was paying for what influence Voldemort had. But if joining Voldemort was the only way to make his father proud, then Draco didn't care what cost there was.
A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter! I just don't want to write too much too soon. Reviews would be great(wink wink, nudge nudge)! Um, just tell me what you think. The more reviews, the sooner I'll write!