Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter, if I did i would be basking in the sun somewhere in the vicinity of the Caribbean, lol.
Yelling. It never happened in Malfoy Manor. Utter silence would be the constant fixture drowning out his thoughts in its obsessive nothingness. The rain pattered, running in streaming rivulets down the lead pane windows, blurring his face to any outsiders looking in. Draco Malfoy, the only son and heir to the Lord of the property, heaved a heartfelt sigh.
A fire burned in the huge, ornate fireplace at the opposite end of the room but he was still cold. Figures. He bet the Weasley's were warm, all cuddled together in their ramshackle farmhouse slash hovel. He recalled seeing the weasel's mother at the train station the previous term. A dumpy sort of woman, trademark red hair, a crochet shawl about her shoulders; obviously made herself. He remembered thinking how pathetically poor they were and how little power they had, yet they still had so much love and affection for each other. The mother herding them all together and hugging them fondly one by one.
He'd felt a little twinge then. A smidgen of jealousy. He had power and wealth and he wasn't afraid to brag about it. A sad attempt really, he thought, to cover up the horrible loneliness he felt in his heart.
His own mother had greeted him in her usual cool fashion. She wore a cape instead of a shawl. Velvet, silver, with real diamonds studding the clasp. She hadn't hugged him. She had instead kissed the air either side of his face in a European, upper-class greeting to keep up appearances, looked him up and down for any flaws in his attire and beckoned a house elf to take his trunk down to their apparition point.
The silence was oppressive. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout. He was sick of this life of finery, he wanted emotions, he wanted to love and to be loved. But no money in the world can buy you that.
Draco brought his head forward to thud softly against the glass and gazed miserably down at the landscaped gardens with their high fences, walling him in, taking away his freedom. Even the grounds were still and silent. Even the rainstorm didn't seem to be able to dent the quiet chill in the air. It seemed the weather too bowed to his father's will.
Maybe this was why he targeted and methodically bullied Potter and company. He could yell at them. Scream at them. Taunt them mercilessly 'til the cows came home and his father wouldn't stop him then because he hated Potter with all his black little heart. It was the only way Draco knew to let all his frustration out.
Draco focused on the window again and imagined himself as one of the droplets of water, slowly slipping and sliding downwards until it crashed and obliterated itself on the window sill below.
That Granger. The mudblood. She had it all didn't she? He'd seen her parents at the station too. Enveloping their daughter in a deluge of kisses and hugs, almost smothering the young witch in their shower of love and adoration.
Draco knew that what his father had brought him up to believe was wrong; muggle born were of equal competence and value to purebloods, but still he didn't stop tormenting Granger. Why should she have so much happiness while he had none?
Then there was Potter himself. One stupid incident as a baby and everyone worships him for something he doesn't even remember. Whereas he, Draco, had been striving for years to gain the respect and recognition of his father and others and he had nothing.
Scowling, Draco got up from the window seat to move nearer the fire and as he did so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like a miniature version of his father, although he had the high, defined cheekbones of his mother. There was one difference though that was all his own. His eyes were not as cold and unfeeling as his father's. His had a stormy depth full of pent up emotion and the long desire to be free.
He'd had enough. Making the decision before he could stop to think reasonably about it, Draco strode swiftly across the room to grab his thick winter cloak, before apparating to the manor's entrance hall. Glancing around quickly to check no one was watching, he heaved open the tall oak doors and walked boldly out into the world. His cloak swirling out behind him. He didn't look back.
AN - OK, for now this is a one shot, but if enough people like it then I can be persuaded to write more. Please review and let me know what you think, any comments you might have will be much appreciated, thank you!
Yelling. It never happened in Malfoy Manor. Utter silence would be the constant fixture drowning out his thoughts in its obsessive nothingness. The rain pattered, running in streaming rivulets down the lead pane windows, blurring his face to any outsiders looking in. Draco Malfoy, the only son and heir to the Lord of the property, heaved a heartfelt sigh.
A fire burned in the huge, ornate fireplace at the opposite end of the room but he was still cold. Figures. He bet the Weasley's were warm, all cuddled together in their ramshackle farmhouse slash hovel. He recalled seeing the weasel's mother at the train station the previous term. A dumpy sort of woman, trademark red hair, a crochet shawl about her shoulders; obviously made herself. He remembered thinking how pathetically poor they were and how little power they had, yet they still had so much love and affection for each other. The mother herding them all together and hugging them fondly one by one.
He'd felt a little twinge then. A smidgen of jealousy. He had power and wealth and he wasn't afraid to brag about it. A sad attempt really, he thought, to cover up the horrible loneliness he felt in his heart.
His own mother had greeted him in her usual cool fashion. She wore a cape instead of a shawl. Velvet, silver, with real diamonds studding the clasp. She hadn't hugged him. She had instead kissed the air either side of his face in a European, upper-class greeting to keep up appearances, looked him up and down for any flaws in his attire and beckoned a house elf to take his trunk down to their apparition point.
The silence was oppressive. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout. He was sick of this life of finery, he wanted emotions, he wanted to love and to be loved. But no money in the world can buy you that.
Draco brought his head forward to thud softly against the glass and gazed miserably down at the landscaped gardens with their high fences, walling him in, taking away his freedom. Even the grounds were still and silent. Even the rainstorm didn't seem to be able to dent the quiet chill in the air. It seemed the weather too bowed to his father's will.
Maybe this was why he targeted and methodically bullied Potter and company. He could yell at them. Scream at them. Taunt them mercilessly 'til the cows came home and his father wouldn't stop him then because he hated Potter with all his black little heart. It was the only way Draco knew to let all his frustration out.
Draco focused on the window again and imagined himself as one of the droplets of water, slowly slipping and sliding downwards until it crashed and obliterated itself on the window sill below.
That Granger. The mudblood. She had it all didn't she? He'd seen her parents at the station too. Enveloping their daughter in a deluge of kisses and hugs, almost smothering the young witch in their shower of love and adoration.
Draco knew that what his father had brought him up to believe was wrong; muggle born were of equal competence and value to purebloods, but still he didn't stop tormenting Granger. Why should she have so much happiness while he had none?
Then there was Potter himself. One stupid incident as a baby and everyone worships him for something he doesn't even remember. Whereas he, Draco, had been striving for years to gain the respect and recognition of his father and others and he had nothing.
Scowling, Draco got up from the window seat to move nearer the fire and as he did so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like a miniature version of his father, although he had the high, defined cheekbones of his mother. There was one difference though that was all his own. His eyes were not as cold and unfeeling as his father's. His had a stormy depth full of pent up emotion and the long desire to be free.
He'd had enough. Making the decision before he could stop to think reasonably about it, Draco strode swiftly across the room to grab his thick winter cloak, before apparating to the manor's entrance hall. Glancing around quickly to check no one was watching, he heaved open the tall oak doors and walked boldly out into the world. His cloak swirling out behind him. He didn't look back.
AN - OK, for now this is a one shot, but if enough people like it then I can be persuaded to write more. Please review and let me know what you think, any comments you might have will be much appreciated, thank you!