Draco sat near the window of his bedroom watching as a storm approached. The lightning cracked the sky and made it look as if it were broken. He sighed and bit the nail on the pointing finger of his left hand. It was a nasty habit he had developed over the summer, one
he was sure had been caused by stress.
He picked up the days copy of The Daily Prophet, and made to read it but set it down as he had the last several times he had picked it up. He hated to read it anymore. His family always seemed to make the front page somehow, though they had not been seen by the wizarding world for weeks. Yet, his growing curiosity of what was going on in the world took over yet again, and he picked up the paper. He looked out of his window once more, and then averted his eyes to the cover of The Daily Prophet.
He scanned the headlines looking for mention of the Malfoy name, which he was pleased to find did not appear in any of the articles. He sighed in relief and looked over the headlines to see if anything interesting had developed lately. Nothing in particular caught his eye, just the usual rubbish, "Cornelius Fudge leaves the Ministry" and other Fudge related articles.
Fudge had left the Ministry at the beginning of summer, stating that, "The current events were much too stressful" and he was, "Incapable of making wise and accurate decisions under such stress." The post had been temporarily given to Amelia Susan Bones, who had recently been Head of Magical Law Enforcement Patrol until someone else was nominated.
The media had a field day with Fudges sudden departure from the Ministry, claiming everything from "Fudge leaves Ministry to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", to Draco's personal favorite, "Fudge caught in Muggle Suburban hexing fire hydrants: The madness behind our ex Minister." None of these articles had been true of course, and many believed the same as Draco, Fudge left the Ministry out of embarrassment.
The Dark Lord had been under Fudge's nose for a whole year, and the daft bloke had been too blinded by his paranoia to notice. Overlooking such a mistake certainly did not make a good impression on the
Wizarding world, so Fudge, fearful of his reputation, fled on his own accord before too much could be said against him.
The storm that had been approaching finally reached Malfoy Manor, and rain began pounding hard against Draco's window, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
Draco had always loved storms. They seemed to put him at ease, and though the storm outside was raging he felt relaxed for the first time that summer.
He put his copy of the Daily Prophet on his nightstand and retreated to the Ballroom.
The Ballroom was perhaps the finest room in the Malfoy Mansion. Though it was far from simple (as most rooms in the Mansion were), it had a certain charm to it that seemed to act as a magnet, drawing in passersby.
The walls stretched some twenty feet high, and were trimmed in gold crown molding. On the ceiling was a painting of a jumble of people engaged in what looked like a battle. Draco knew very little about the painting, only that it was called "The Damned" and that it had been painted long ago. The windows stood floor to ceiling, draped in black velvet. The parquet floors had once been danced upon by people of long ago, but had not served that purpose since the Malfoy's had purchased it.
The Ballroom had mostly been used for meetings between The Dark Lord, his Father, and the rest of the Death Eaters, but now served as Draco's place of escape. He had been coming here mostly everyday since his childhood. He would pull back the drapes to see the sky outside and play whatever song seemed to mirror his mood on the piano. Today it was "The Moonlight Sonata."
He sat playing, watching the storm as it continued to rage on outside. He had learned how to play the piano at a very young age by one of the nannies his parents hired to look after him while they were away on "Business." Her name had been Ilana. She was a brunette girl with piercing green eyes that seemed to be able to search out things in people, things they had tried to keep hidden.
Draco had developed a very special bond with Ilana; she was the only person he could confide in. Until one day she tried to take him from the Mansion after seeing him get a beating from his Father for eating
his dinner with the salad fork, rather than the dinner fork. Ilana, was of course, killed and Draco had not confided in anyone since.
Perhaps this was why he found himself in the Ballroom, playing mostly dark and sad melodies everyday. Perhaps this was the only means he had for reliving himself of his everyday burdens. He played the last note of the song, and sat quietly reminiscing over all of the hardships he had been faced with.
He had struggled most of his child hood to please his Father. Yet nothing had ever seemed good enough, and he found himself messing up quite often. He had received many beatings for his faults, and was sure his Father had had enough of his mistakes. His Father grew very distant from him for a while, locking himself in his office, only coming down for meals. He thought for sure his Father hated him, when finally, one day he emerged from his office a new man. He asked Draco to do him favors in which he would have never trusted him with before, and for once, Draco was finally able to accomplish his Father's biddings without messing up.
His Father became very proud of him, and pushed him to carry on even more weight, and he did so, without failure. The regular beatings he had become accustomed to ceased, and his Father even allowed him to sit in on meetings with the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord himself had even asked him to join his band of Death Eaters when he became of age.
His Father could not have been more pleased and boasted about him to all of his friends (whose children had not been as "privileged").
Draco had always been proud of his accomplishments, but felt as though something was missing. He never felt as if he had earned any of the praise he was awarded. Usually when he earned something, he felt a sense of accomplishment, but when it came to the matters of his Father, he felt as if he hadn't earned anything. Perhaps it was because he thought himself unworthy or perhaps it was deeper than that. It was like someone was guiding him along, giving him all the answers. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, but knew, deep down, something was not right.
He walked out onto the balcony, where he always did his best thinking. He leaned over the edge and gazed out into the sky, the rain was pouring in on him, soaking him thoroughly, but he did not care. He watched the lightning strike the ground with a loud pop and listened to the thunder as it roared across the sky.
His mind drifted to his Father again and how he had suddenly been able to please him so easily. He remembered something Ilana had told him one night while his parents were away. It was a vague memory, but one he had played over in his head again and again, since his Father had been sent to Azkaban.
He and Ilana were sitting at the piano, as they did most nights, when Ilana stopped playing and looked down at him with her piercing green eyes.
"Draco-" She had began, but then cut herself off, obviously not wanting to say what was on her mind.
"What?" He had asked, concernedly.
"Do you ever wonder why your Father stays up in his office most of the time?" She asked, staring down at the piano.
"Yeah," He had said, dangling his legs off of the piano bench, "Why do you ask?"
Ilana bit her bottom lip and continued to stare down at the piano.
"I think he's up to something," She said, now looking at him.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"Well, I just think it's suspicious that's all.
Just...watch out for yourself okay?"
"Okay." He replied.
What if she had been right? What if his Father had been up to something in his office? What if that had something to do with how he was feeling now? He had felt strangely different since his Father's conviction. At first he had played it off as feelings he was having at the absence of his Father, but it went deeper than that. It was somehow different, almost like he was turning into someone else. Feeling a chill from standing out in the rain, he decided to drag himself inside, take a warm shower and change into some dry clothes before probing this situation any farther.
The rain still had not ceased when Draco finished his shower. It pounded his bedroom windows unmercifully and made him feel very serene. He pulled back the emerald blanket that covered his bed and lay facing the window. Watching the lightning again as it lit up the night sky. He pulled his blanket to him and wondered whether he'd ever see Hogwarts again.
Letters would be arriving soon, and he doubted he'd receive one. After the events that had plagued the beginning of summer he knew he would not be welcomed back to Hogwarts. He doubted he'd even see another wizard, much less his old school friends. Not that he had cared much for them, but at least they made his life a little less lonely.
Many of the Slytherins had viewed him the same way he viewed his Father: a role model, a person of great power and they would do the wildest things just to be noticed by him. Though he felt unworthy of the attention, he mopped it up, and went to great stretches to earn more, not because he was deprived of it at home, just that he liked being seen as an equal to his Father.
Many thought he hated Hogwarts, he had, after all, never said a single nice thing about it. They couldn't have been more wrong. He had loved Hogwarts; it was his only way of being free of this dreadful mansion. His insults against Hogwarts were just another part of his antics to be noticed. He knew that most all of the Slytherins despised Hogwarts, what would they think if he admitted he enjoyed it? They would think he were a fool, and shun him like he were a large box of Bulbadox powder. He couldn't afford that, or at least his Father couldn't anyway.
He began to remember all of the things he had done to gain his Father's pride, trying out for quidditch, studying all night to earn good marks in Professor Snape's class (not that he wouldn't have got them anyway), becoming a prefect, being part of Professor Umbridge's Inquisitorial squad. He had spent so much of his school life trying to please his Father that he had hardly had time to enjoy himself, and now it was gone.
He felt anger flame up inside him, he was angry at his Father for putting he and his Mother in this miserable position, and he felt angry at himself for trying so hard to be like him, for wasting what could have been the best years of his life.
He had lost interest in being a Death Eater, and though the Dementors had left Azkaban, he knew he'd never see his Father again. Even if he did escape the prison, the Dark Lord would never let Lucius walk as a free man. His struggles had earned him nothing but a life of loneliness and despair. What was he to do with himself now? He had no one to please, no one to be praised by, no one to look up to.
The storm had finally passed and Draco was unable to sleep. He decided to take a walk to the ocean behind the Mansion. Once outside his room, he made his way through the corridor. Candles lit themselves as he walked past, and the house elves bid him hello as they made their way from one side of the house to another.
He reached the back lawn and was not surprised to see the Gargoyles that guarded the perimeter of the house had woken from their daily slumber and were conversing with each other in a series of low mumbles and grunts. They reminded him of Crabbe and Goyle. They bowed their heads to him as he made his way by them, and grunted their greetings. Once on the beach, he took of his shoes and lay down in the sand, gazing into the sky to spot his favorite constellations.
Orange rain clouds still loomed ahead blocking his view, and all that was visible was a crescent crimson moon that hung lowly in the sky casting an eerie orange glow over the water.
He began picking up handfuls of sand and squeezing them, before letting them spill out from between his fingers. The sand reminded him of all the hopes and dream's he had, they were right within his reach, but he had somehow managed to let them slip by.
He rolled on to his side, he was fed up with thinking about what a miserable life he led, this would not lead him to peace, it would only make matters worse. He pushed up off of ground and began walking along the shore, picking up shells and tossing them in the water as he went.
He was trying to keep his mind occupied, thinking of everything but the loneliness that surrounded him. His mind traveled back to his days at Hogwarts and all those poor souls who had endured his malicious teasing
and rude comments. His mind fell on the three people who had most definitely heard the worst of it, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.
He couldn't really come to terms with why he was feeling guilty about it. Perhaps it was because he had grown up considerably over the summer, and was forced to trade in his teenage years for the mundane life he led now. Really, Potter and his friends were so much better off than he had ever been, even if Weasley was poor, Potter had to live with muggles who hated him, and Granger was a Mudblood. They had led fairly enjoyable lives, had mostly happy childhoods (Save for Potter, but he had at least enjoyed his time in Hogwarts) and were well known and well liked throughout Hogwarts.
What had he, Draco had? His life was hardly enjoyable, his childhood had been despairingly terrible, and while he was well liked by many at Hogwarts, they had only liked him because of who his Father was, and how much like his Father he was.
Draco would have really given anything to earn the kind of respect Potter had. People loved him for who he was, not who he pretended to be. Perhaps this was why he hated Potter, besides of course, the fact that his father had told him to. He hadn't been too keen on Weasley and Granger simply because his Father told him they were bad people.
"The Weasleys are about as foul as Muggles and Mudbloods, never get mixed up with that sort Draco, or else you'll be no better." He recalled his Father saying.
But surely the two of them couldn't have been that bad, could they? Granger was the top student at Hogwarts, and Weasley, well there wasn't really that much to be said about Weasley, only that he managed to become a prefect, which wasn't a very great accomplishment given his family history. But what did he care if they were decent people? They had gotten his Father put in prison, they had ruined his life, they had helped put him in this dire lifestyle.
Though the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize, that no matter how badly he needed an outlet, no matter how bad he wanted them to be at fault, it really was not their fault. His Father became a Death Eater on his own accord hadn't he? No one twisted his arm and made him do it. It was all just an example of the Malfoy's thirst for power, their longing to be above everyone else. Even Draco had at one time craved power, he had wanted to be above everyone else, but that now seemed like a past that was no longer a part of him. For now what was he?
"Lowly Malfoy scum" A witch had said to him at his Father's trial, and the name had stuck with him ever since. The witch had been right.
He walked slowly back to the Mansion, drug himself up the winding staircase to his bedroom and took a large gulp out of a potion bottle before falling into a dreamless sleep.
