DISCLAIMER: All characters and settings found in my stories are the property of J.K. Rowling.
Everyone says Harry Potter had a difficult childhood. I say ignorance is preferable to blind indifference. When I was little my father was invincible, perfect in every way, and I couldn't wait to become him, to live his life full of adventure and conquest. It wasn't until later that I learned the truth. I was impressionable; I suppose every child is, but myself more so. Even after realizing the truth, after watching him in his perverse pleasures I still loved him; he was my father.
It was not until later that I understood the reality and depth the consequences of his actions harbored. It was not until I saw the slow annihilation of the lives around me did I come to see my father was not the person I believed him to be.
It was not good stead and hard work that brought my family money, it was cruelty and indifference; idle hands of bored, passionate young men looking for a cause in which to believe. They paid no mind to the goodness or wickedness of the cause, only pausing for concern about how much they would earn from their sins.
So my forefather's built the mansion that bears their and my name today: a ruthless sterile mansion that resembles a museum, not a home. It is the place in which I have slept, ate, and played for seventeen years, yet I will never call it home. It is my father's house, passed down through generations of ruthless, brutal men; it is a house that I will one day refuse to own—not because it bears the name Malfoy, but because of the coldness and impersonal disposition that lurks within the walls, destroying a person's mind and reaching out to bring others into its grasp.
I have not told my father this for fear of his reprisal, much as I have failed to divulge that it never really has been in my interest to join the Death Eaters; what kind of man would choose to sacrifice himself for a Lord who could kill him any day? I know I'm selfish, I learned it at a young age, and that is why I am so unwilling to give my life to another who could easily take it away. The whole idea is utterly ridiculous.
The things I dreamed of as a child—being an Auror or even a dragon tamer—they don't exist any more. I had no idea that on the day I came into this world I had already been predestined to carry my father's sins, to take the weight of his burdens upon my shoulders and carry them proudly. I was allowed to live in my blissful ignorance for ten years. It was then my father informed me of what my future was to hold if I wished to remain his son; I was to uphold the family honor or be cast aside like a useless beggar child. Needless to say I stayed. I still believed at ten my father could be redeemed from his sins and that I would be the one to show him the way—but never did I tell him of my mother's actions.
I received the mark last year; my mother put on quite a show, letting nothing of her true feelings pervade the otherwise jubilant event. However, my father failed to notice the looks of disdain she shot at me for months afterward, how she failed to look me in the eyes and, instead, allowed her penetrating gaze to stare fixedly at my right forearm. At times it seemed she could see through the fabric, consciously making the mark burn without any assistance from the Dark Lord. It is her guilt that penetrates my soul, keeping me awake at night and forcing me to relive my actions in my dreams. Yet, it is upon my father's incessant demands I live my life, occasionally stopping to ponder of that which I am steadfastly becoming.
Two days ago my mother watched as I grasped my forearm in pain. She stared unblinkingly as I Apparated to join my father's side. I cannot tell her of the path I have chosen to follow, she would not understand. The choices for my parents are distinctly clear and parallel; never the two shall meet in purpose. I, however, am not so lucky. I am resigned to be the tangent consecutively intersecting both the plans of my mother and father, to be the thorn in each of their sides.
Voldemort believes I have followed in my father's footsteps, that I have become what I was bred to be. Dumbledore believes I am a reformed sinner. They're both wrong. I only kill to keep from being killed and I only help the order to get back at my father and the destruction he has caused in my life as well as the lives of others. My motivations are purely selfish and I have not taken a side. I am stuck in limbo as the only person in this war without a definitive purpose.
The rain outside continues to lash against the windowpanes, but my repair holds—no more water graces the ledge. In five days I am supposed to join my mother in the fight against Voldemort and choose a side. In five decisive days, I am supposed to join the side of good and kill my father.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews—I love hearing what everyone thinks! Constructive criticism welcome!