Draco Malfoy had never loved his life. Fair enough, he was spoilt, rich,
and the only son and heir of one of the last, most affluent and renowned
wizarding families. He was naturally smart - perhaps not book smart, but he
knew the right end of a broom stick. unlike his school associates, Crabbe
and Goyle. He was not handsome, but shockingly good looking, with white
blonde hair and piercing grey eyes. Life, as everyone who knew him had
guessed, had been extremely easy for him. He wanted, he got. Yet, he had
always felt. empty. Lost somehow. He knew his father was an important man,
yet he was a cold man, never once had he hugged Draco. That didn't bother
Draco much, as he himself was both cold and cruel. His mother had always
loved Draco. She would give him everything. But even for a spoilt rich kid
there was a limit to what he could take. And he knew it was to gloss over
the darker things in his life. The constant jibes of his father, how he
invited over strange 'guests', how he hated muggles.
Draco had hated muggles too. He was brought up that way, why would he think any different? He knew he was better then them. It was evident in what he had, what he knew, and what they didn't have or know. It was evident in the beatings he received when young if he sympathised with a muggle, or a mudblood. So he learnt his lesson, he hated anyone that wasn't pureblood, wasn't rich, wasn't attractive, wasn't smart. Draco Malfoy grew up hating everyone except his mother. When his father had been arrested, Draco should have been happy. It was him and his mother, no beatings, no tauntings. But his mother hadn't been the same. she was different. His mother needed Lucius to survive, and now he was gone, she wasn't surviving. Narcissa Malfoy refused to leave the house, and slowly spiralled into what Draco could only explain as psychotic.
When Draco left where he had spent the entire 16 years of his life, he had nowhere to go. He had travelled to the three broomsticks, wearing the hood of his travelling coat low for fear of being recognised. It had been so. convenient. to receive the letter from Hogwarts asking him to return. Draco knew it was on Dumbledore's part, as he had always taken in the strays, the people Draco and his family had hated. And now he had taken in Draco. And Draco realised, not for the first time, nor the last, that he hated himself. He hated what he was. He had been brought up hating, and he disliked everything so much because he despised himself. He saw himself becoming his father, and this tortured him so much he felt sick, felt his stomach almost tearing in disgust.
Draco Malfoy lay down in his bed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, alone in the dorm. The others, being the sons of death eaters, had not returned for their sixth year. For this, Draco was grateful. He wanted to be alone, feeling his stomach twist inside the emptiness of his gut. He felt his arm throb where the glass had cut him, and as his other hand gently massaged the wound he wished that it had been a little deeper. A little more closer to the vein. If it had been, he knew he wouldn't be laying here wishing so desperately to be one of those people he had once hated so much.
He couldn't lay around any longer. He didn't want to be by himself. He didn't want to be around any one else either, but he couldn't just lay around despising himself. He didn't know what he might end up doing.
Draco slowly wound his way through the corridors of Hogwarts. Not many people were around, the evening meal was on, and would be for quite some time as everyone mingled and discussed last years events. He came to the door way of the library, and after a slight pause decided to go inside. The library was bound to be empty, first day back, the feast on. Draco grabbed the nearest book and plonked down into a thick armchair. After ten minutes or so he realised he was reading an old philosophy text, to which he had no interest in. At all.
He yawned and looked around the library for something better to read. Deciding to get up and check it out, he walked the narrow isles, not seeing anything but a haze. He thought of his mother- she had been there all along in the back of his mind, only immediately coming to the surface, bringing along feelings of anxiety with her. He stopped and bent down, trying to catch his breath as the world spun. He walked to the nearest window sill, desperate to sit down. Draco Malfoy let out a gasp as he stumbled into something sitting on the floor. He wiped his eyes as he heard a familiar voice.
"Watch it Malfoy!" He looked up, and his grey eyes met brown ones. He stopped, closing his eyes, and took in several deep gasps.
"Malfoy. What are you doing? You don't look too well." Hermione Grangers voice was not filled with concern, but a curious nature. Regaining his composure, he looked at her, curious himself. "What are you doing in here Granger? Where are Potter and Weasel?"
"Oh, forget it," she responded, "Just forget it." She stood up, and now, towering over him, Draco saw the redness of her eyes. He stared. He didn't know what to say. Mixed emotions flashed through him. He instantly felt dislike looking at her, but that was what his father taught him. What he wanted. Draco stared at Hermione, these thoughts flashing through him. She knew something was wrong with him, but she wasn't his friend. If she tried to help, he wouldn't accept it. She knew he hated her.
Hermione turned to leave, a confused expression on her face. Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. She stopped, and slowly turned. He didn't know what he was doing, had no idea. She looked at him, sideways through her long hair. Draco slowly rose, standing above her.
"Granger. I." He stopped. What was he doing, he didn't know her, didn't owe her anything. She looked at him squarely.
Shock flittered over her features, a fraction of a second. She regained her composure, lowering her eyes, taking back her hand.
".I know" She said quietly. "Everything is changing." She quickly turned and left without a glance over her shoulder.
****
As Draco lay in bed for the second time that night, her voice played repeatedly through his head. Everything was changing. His life had changed. Hers had too, he supposed, with her friends. After all, Potter was depressed at the death of that man his father had killed. Draco rolled over and sighed, knowing everything was changing - he felt remorse at what his father had done.
Draco had hated muggles too. He was brought up that way, why would he think any different? He knew he was better then them. It was evident in what he had, what he knew, and what they didn't have or know. It was evident in the beatings he received when young if he sympathised with a muggle, or a mudblood. So he learnt his lesson, he hated anyone that wasn't pureblood, wasn't rich, wasn't attractive, wasn't smart. Draco Malfoy grew up hating everyone except his mother. When his father had been arrested, Draco should have been happy. It was him and his mother, no beatings, no tauntings. But his mother hadn't been the same. she was different. His mother needed Lucius to survive, and now he was gone, she wasn't surviving. Narcissa Malfoy refused to leave the house, and slowly spiralled into what Draco could only explain as psychotic.
When Draco left where he had spent the entire 16 years of his life, he had nowhere to go. He had travelled to the three broomsticks, wearing the hood of his travelling coat low for fear of being recognised. It had been so. convenient. to receive the letter from Hogwarts asking him to return. Draco knew it was on Dumbledore's part, as he had always taken in the strays, the people Draco and his family had hated. And now he had taken in Draco. And Draco realised, not for the first time, nor the last, that he hated himself. He hated what he was. He had been brought up hating, and he disliked everything so much because he despised himself. He saw himself becoming his father, and this tortured him so much he felt sick, felt his stomach almost tearing in disgust.
Draco Malfoy lay down in his bed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, alone in the dorm. The others, being the sons of death eaters, had not returned for their sixth year. For this, Draco was grateful. He wanted to be alone, feeling his stomach twist inside the emptiness of his gut. He felt his arm throb where the glass had cut him, and as his other hand gently massaged the wound he wished that it had been a little deeper. A little more closer to the vein. If it had been, he knew he wouldn't be laying here wishing so desperately to be one of those people he had once hated so much.
He couldn't lay around any longer. He didn't want to be by himself. He didn't want to be around any one else either, but he couldn't just lay around despising himself. He didn't know what he might end up doing.
Draco slowly wound his way through the corridors of Hogwarts. Not many people were around, the evening meal was on, and would be for quite some time as everyone mingled and discussed last years events. He came to the door way of the library, and after a slight pause decided to go inside. The library was bound to be empty, first day back, the feast on. Draco grabbed the nearest book and plonked down into a thick armchair. After ten minutes or so he realised he was reading an old philosophy text, to which he had no interest in. At all.
He yawned and looked around the library for something better to read. Deciding to get up and check it out, he walked the narrow isles, not seeing anything but a haze. He thought of his mother- she had been there all along in the back of his mind, only immediately coming to the surface, bringing along feelings of anxiety with her. He stopped and bent down, trying to catch his breath as the world spun. He walked to the nearest window sill, desperate to sit down. Draco Malfoy let out a gasp as he stumbled into something sitting on the floor. He wiped his eyes as he heard a familiar voice.
"Watch it Malfoy!" He looked up, and his grey eyes met brown ones. He stopped, closing his eyes, and took in several deep gasps.
"Malfoy. What are you doing? You don't look too well." Hermione Grangers voice was not filled with concern, but a curious nature. Regaining his composure, he looked at her, curious himself. "What are you doing in here Granger? Where are Potter and Weasel?"
"Oh, forget it," she responded, "Just forget it." She stood up, and now, towering over him, Draco saw the redness of her eyes. He stared. He didn't know what to say. Mixed emotions flashed through him. He instantly felt dislike looking at her, but that was what his father taught him. What he wanted. Draco stared at Hermione, these thoughts flashing through him. She knew something was wrong with him, but she wasn't his friend. If she tried to help, he wouldn't accept it. She knew he hated her.
Hermione turned to leave, a confused expression on her face. Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. She stopped, and slowly turned. He didn't know what he was doing, had no idea. She looked at him, sideways through her long hair. Draco slowly rose, standing above her.
"Granger. I." He stopped. What was he doing, he didn't know her, didn't owe her anything. She looked at him squarely.
Shock flittered over her features, a fraction of a second. She regained her composure, lowering her eyes, taking back her hand.
".I know" She said quietly. "Everything is changing." She quickly turned and left without a glance over her shoulder.
****
As Draco lay in bed for the second time that night, her voice played repeatedly through his head. Everything was changing. His life had changed. Hers had too, he supposed, with her friends. After all, Potter was depressed at the death of that man his father had killed. Draco rolled over and sighed, knowing everything was changing - he felt remorse at what his father had done.