A/N: One-shot. Most likely won't go any farther. Will possibly consider it, but it's not likely as I can barely keep up with my other fic. Speaking of which (this is to readers of my fic "The Kiss") I'm really sorry I haven't updated it yet. I need to get off my lazy ass and get to work on it. Anyway...enjoy!

My favorite color? Red. But not the bright red commonly thought of. A deep crimson red, blood red is what most people would call it. This wasn't always my favorite color. But I've changed, things have changed, time has changed.

I remember when I was innocent. Yes, even I, Draco Malfoy, was innocent at some point. I loved my parents and was a good little boy. That was until the year before I entered Hogwarts. I always knew there was something different about my father; something I could never understand. That year, I found out.

Interestingly enough, I got my letter for Hogwarts a year early. Mum, of course, was very proud; tears formed in her eyes, she got mushy, the whole lot of it. Father didn't seem affected at all. He just said "Always knew you would make it," and went back to whatever he was doing.

Later on, he called me into his study. "Boy, I want to talk to you about something." That's what he always called me. Boy, young man, sometimes even sir. He never used my name. I don't recall one time hearing my name come off his lips. "Do you realize what's going to happen next year when you go into Hogwarts?" he asked gruffly.

"No sir," I mumbled. I was always taught to be formal to him. I suppose that's why people perceive me as aloof. I could never be familiar with anyone but my mother.

"You're a Malfoy, son, and as a Malfoy, people expect certain things of you. Certain things you have not yet become." I remember, at this point, wondering what these things could possibly be. My question was soon answered. "You need to not be so familiar with your mother and you need to have a darker disposition. You are too...happy to be a true Malfoy. I suppose you got that from your mother's side of the family..."

I was shocked at what he had to say. I was too happy? Isn't that what parents want for their kids? I reasoned to myself and made up excuses for him. "He just wants me to be happy in a different way," I told myself. I was wrong.

Before I knew it, he was on his feet, pacing back and forth. I was frightened. He was talking to himself, but at the time, I didn't understand any of it. As I thought back on it later, I would understand what he was talking about.

"Which one should I use? Is it worth the Unforgivable if I get caught?" were just a couple of things I heard him say.

He finally turned towards me and told me that he wanted me to make friends with Harry Potter, if it was at all possible. When I asked him why, he said "Just do it!" and slapped me.

I ran to my room, tears stinging my eyes, the whole time vowing not to cry. I would never let him know how much pain he caused me.

It wasn't until later that I realized this is what he wanted from me-a cold heart, like he had. I never knew my father better than when he would beat me. Soon, I refused to even come home from Hogwarts. I would have never let anyone know this though. I merely told people I had chosen to stay and see what the lousy school had to offer.

In fact, the school felt more like home than home.

After my offer of friendship to Harry was turned down, I, of course, started to taunt him. I knew it would be what Father wanted, and what else could I do? If I refused, he would use an Unforgivable on me, and no one can imagine the pain of that. An Unforgivable by itself hurts enough, but for you to know that your father is on the other end of that wand is even worse.

Eventually, of course, I went nuts. I couldn't stand it anymore. I did something I have never since regretted because it helped me gain the strength I needed.

I was by myself one day in the dorms, supposedly doing homework, but really snooping around, and I found a pocketknife. I don't remember whose it was, but I found it somewhere and a thought suddenly occurred to me.

What if all the pain I'd been feeling from my father could somehow be cause by me? It would then be easier to bear.

So, I made my first cut. I watched as the knife dug through my skin, and watched as the blood flowed out of the wound. The cut wasn't very deep, but it was enough for me to at least bleed, and somehow, it eased all the stress I had been feeling.

Afterwards, I felt like I could face him. Which I did. I promptly moved out of the manor and haven't been back. My mother has tried to make contact with me, but I normally just toss the letters out and never reply. I've replied once to tell her to leave me alone, but she hasn't followed my wishes yet.

I know that red is always going to be my favorite color. It's the color that brought me freedom. I wouldn't have it any other way.