He sat in the dark, his face lowered, his eyes staring at the picture. He stared at the picture so long that he couldn't really see it anymore, but the image was impressed upon his mind, burning him. He sat in the dark, in a dark cold room that at that moment represented his life, with snores echoing around him. He felt the need to be alone, but where could he possibly go?
He had never felt so trapped in his life. So suffocated by those around him. Every snore pieced through his mind. Every grunt made his scream grow upwards from his chest.
The picture. He couldn't even remember how he had got it now. He searched his mind and found a vague memory of Pansy's smiling face. "Look, Draco," she had said gleefully, "I got Granger's bag!"
Inside the contents had disappointed Pansy. She had wanted something secretive or perhaps some money. Anything. But all Granger had had in her small bag had been a book, receipts from the library, a somewhat dated autograph from Lockhart, and the picture.
He had looked at the picture. They had all looked at the picture. Made comments and thrown it away. That was what they were expected to do, right? Except Draco still had the picture in his possession. He was still staring at it.
He hadn't had an abusive childhood. He wasn't an insecure little boy. He wasn't hiding any inner pain. He was Draco Malfoy. What you see is what you get.
Except nobody could see him with this picture. Goyle and Crabbe were asleep and it was too dark to see his expression, anyway. He didn't really understand what was wrong with him but something about the picture was stirring some deep primitive thing from inside of him. He would never understand though. Because he was a Malfoy.
The picture showed Harry Potter, sitting beside a chessboard. He was grinning into the camera. Christmas rapping paper carpeted the floor. His glasses were slightly askew and he was wearing pyjamas that were rather small for him. But he looked happy. The picture also showed Ron Weasley. He was sitting on the couch, fast asleep, with cheeks as red as his hair. He was beside a fireplace and would soon wake up because of the under going heat. The picture also showed Hermione Granger, hands on her hips, with a mocking disgruntled look at Ron. She was grinning through, through her false disguise. Even Draco could see that.
If Draco had been smart enough, he would have smart enough to recognise these feelings as loneliness, unhappiness and jealousy. Draco had always been jealous of Harry Potter and even maybe the other two, but this was about something more than Quidditch and school grades. If Draco had been less proud, maybe he would have done something about these feelings. Maybe he would have tried been nicer to Crabbe and Goyle. Maybe he would have shown Pansy some respect.
But he didn't.
He was Draco Malfoy. He wasn't smart enough and he was too proud. He looked up from the picture and stared into a long tunnel of darkness. At that minute he knew that was the picture of his life floating above him. Darkness. He wouldn't have what the picture had shown. Maybe if he had been sorted into another house, then maybe, but he hadn't.
Draco turned from the darkness and saw a mirror. In the darkness all he could see was his silhouette. A shadow. But it was enough to remind him who he was. He slowly folded the picture into a small piece and calmly dropped it into the closest bin.
Stupid Granger, taking stupid Mudblood pictures that don't even move. And stupid Potter, with his messy glasses. He would have to teach them tomorrow.
He was Draco Malfoy.
And he always would be. No matter what.