Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Malfoy. His surname. The name that haunted him day and night, reminding him of who he was, and who he could never be.
His heart ached for love, happiness, joy. The things that he would never have. If there was one thing that he desired above all other, it was friendship. A true and strong bond with someone who would lay down their life for you. Who would stand by you and support you no matter what.
Sure, there were Crabbe and Goyle, but were they true friends? No. They only hung around him because his father ordered them to be his bodyguards; to flank and protect him wherever he went, just as their fathers had done to his when they were in Hogwarts.
Day after day he was forced to watch Potter and his riff-raff band of friends parading about the halls, perhaps complaining about the unfairness of a detention, or worrying about the welfare of a fellow classmate. But they would always be together.
He was perfectly aware that Potter did not have an idealistic life; all those brushes with death, losing family and friends to the Dark Lord, even the overwhelming fame; the inescapable stalkers. However, he was always able to pull through with the help of those who stood beside him. Weasley and Granger were always there. They were his companions into danger when they weren't needed, shoulders for him to lean on after an attack by Voldemort.
Voldemort. That was another thing. His father was already one of his highness's butt-lickers. He constantly attempted to force his son to pledge his allegiance to the scum, often using the Crutatious Curse in order to get the results that he desired. He knew that directly out of school he would have to undergo the ritualistic ceremony that all Death Eaters took, and would be amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord, never to escape from the clutches of the menace Voldemort. No, he wasn't afraid of the bastard's name, but neither was Potter, and he was forbidden from agreeing with the celebrity on anything, even what to call the evil overlord of the wizarding world; so Dark Lord it was.
Just once, he wished that he could be accepted. That the school's eyes wouldn't darken in fear when his name was mentioned. Potter was the worst. His face, along with the faces of his constant companions would always be filled with disgust whenever he was near them; they would twist into a mask of hate, of undiluted loathing. Those looks were agony. They reminded him that there was no hope in this God-forsaken world, that he would always be the symbol of evil and nothing more.
Because he was a Malfoy.
Malfoy. His surname. The name that haunted him day and night, reminding him of who he was, and who he could never be.
His heart ached for love, happiness, joy. The things that he would never have. If there was one thing that he desired above all other, it was friendship. A true and strong bond with someone who would lay down their life for you. Who would stand by you and support you no matter what.
Sure, there were Crabbe and Goyle, but were they true friends? No. They only hung around him because his father ordered them to be his bodyguards; to flank and protect him wherever he went, just as their fathers had done to his when they were in Hogwarts.
Day after day he was forced to watch Potter and his riff-raff band of friends parading about the halls, perhaps complaining about the unfairness of a detention, or worrying about the welfare of a fellow classmate. But they would always be together.
He was perfectly aware that Potter did not have an idealistic life; all those brushes with death, losing family and friends to the Dark Lord, even the overwhelming fame; the inescapable stalkers. However, he was always able to pull through with the help of those who stood beside him. Weasley and Granger were always there. They were his companions into danger when they weren't needed, shoulders for him to lean on after an attack by Voldemort.
Voldemort. That was another thing. His father was already one of his highness's butt-lickers. He constantly attempted to force his son to pledge his allegiance to the scum, often using the Crutatious Curse in order to get the results that he desired. He knew that directly out of school he would have to undergo the ritualistic ceremony that all Death Eaters took, and would be amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord, never to escape from the clutches of the menace Voldemort. No, he wasn't afraid of the bastard's name, but neither was Potter, and he was forbidden from agreeing with the celebrity on anything, even what to call the evil overlord of the wizarding world; so Dark Lord it was.
Just once, he wished that he could be accepted. That the school's eyes wouldn't darken in fear when his name was mentioned. Potter was the worst. His face, along with the faces of his constant companions would always be filled with disgust whenever he was near them; they would twist into a mask of hate, of undiluted loathing. Those looks were agony. They reminded him that there was no hope in this God-forsaken world, that he would always be the symbol of evil and nothing more.
Because he was a Malfoy.