Confusion
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related indicia are copyright© J.K. Rowling. THEYARENOTMYCHARACTERS. Just the story is. Who'da thunk.
The manor was far drearier than it ever had been before. Many of the torches had long since burned out and the cold stonewalls reeked with the stench of dishonor. For sixteen years the Malfoy Manor had been one of the most honorable and respected estates in all of Wizarding Europe. The Aurors has came and gone as they saw fit for the past month or so, and Narcissa had no say in anything they chose to meddle around with, nor did Draco. It was as though their house was an open door to all Aurors who thought they might have missed some valuable piece of evidence or clue one of the other hundred times they had searched the manor.
His father's study had been ransacked, there were papers tossed every which way, many of the thousands of books had been fiddled with and nothing was in its place. For a while his mother had tried to keep up the house, but as the frequent searches continued she just didn't have the heart to try and keep up the once regal manor.
Oh his poor mother. Narcissa was such a lovely specimen, physically and mentally. She had the brilliance and grace of a ballerina, the appearance of a goddess, and the life of a peasant. She deserved so much more than she ended up with. She only produced one child in her lifetime, and it was a pity it had to be him. He was so little, so greedy and proud, much like his father. It wasn't like he didn't love or appreciate his mother, but after seeing how his father treated her it rubbed off on him, his father taught him that the woman of the house needs no respect.
The crushed velvet, highly expensive chairs and love seats in his father's study now had soot stains on them, something that would have never been allowed had his father still been there. The rolling wood chair near his horridly messy desk was one of the only clean things in the room. Draco sat on that chair, his long, slender pale fingers rapping idly on the armrest of it as he thought to himself. This was all so surreal to him; it happened so fast. One day he was Draco Malfoy, the most feared and powerful student at Hogwarts. The next he was just something to laugh at. He no longer had a father he could run to when someone gave him any trouble. He lost his two oafish bodyguards; he lost his popularity even. He was worse than some putrid mudblood, and coming from him that meant something. Of course he still had his expensive clothing, accessories, wizarding items, and money in general, but he was slowly starting to learn that his money, no matter how much he had, could not buy his happiness. Even that dim witted Potter and his mudblood girlfriend were happy, and they had nothing (well, Potter had money, but not nearly enough to buy anything good..). Bloody hell, it seemed like everyone was happy. After all, they all knew Voldemort was back (they would have known sooner, but no one believed pretty boy "I cant tell a lie" Potter), and his own father, the ringleader of Death Eaters was safely in prison.
'Why me?' Draco wouldn't help but ask himself as he stared blankly at the unlit massive fireplace. 'What did /I/ do to deserve this?' Sure, he was rude, greedy, cruel, and even deceitful, but that wasn't any reason for him to end up this way, was it? Perhaps he just hadn't realized the errors in his ways, and at any rate he probably would never admit to being at fault to anything anyway. Arrogantly he leaned back in the chair as to prop his feet up on the cluttered wooden desktop.
At sixteen was he supposed to have to deal with the troubles most grown men never had to face? Things like a loss in the only life he knew. Granted he was still filthy rich, but everything he had grown to know and love had quickly dwindled away, it all left so fast that he didn't even have a chance to try and tighten his grasp on anything worth saving. Luckily most of the horrendous damage to his life was done at the end of the school year, giving him three months to try and gather the last bits of human sanity he still held dearly. He'd simply have to find somewhere else to confide in. Possibly work harder at Quidditch, or even his schoolwork. After all he'd have far more free time to do his studies in. Maybe there was still a chance that he could make something of himself – but what to make himself into. He couldn't' be an Auror, no matter how respected that position was, the Malfoy name had already been disgraced enough in one century. A Death Eater held no form of satisfaction to him. Nor did a professor, doctor, sales wizard, or merchant. He was so lost, and he had only two more years to find out what path to take. A lot can happen in two years.
Authors Note: I had some inspiration to write, and this is what I came up with. A special thanks to Judi for editing this. Give me your thoughts.