A/N: this is a one-shot journal entry idea I got a while ago. I could easily continue it, but I won't unless people tell me I should.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, Blade of the Immortal, Resident Evil, or anything else thus may remind you of.

Memoirs of a Broken Soul


January 29th

My Name is Draconis Nicholai Malfoy, and I remember everything.

I have spent the last six months in St. Mungos, and nobody can figure out what is wrong with me, but I know. It has been these six long months since the Dark Lord was defeated and his supporters killed. I was fortunate enough to survive. No, I was "fortunate" enough that Dumbledore chose to spare me. I spit his name. He calls it mercy and faith, I call it a fool's way to punish me.

It is my fault they're all dead anyway. I don't really know why I should care, except for the fact that it was my fault, and instead of dying with them like I had counted on, Dumbledore thwarts my plans. As soon as I get out of this hell-hole they call a hospital, I'm going to get drunk. Very drunk.

I would kill myself, but Dumbledore has made sure that I won't be able to do that. He says I must bear my burdens and warn others of my fate. Whatever burdens he means, I'm not sure. I don't hold any regrets other than not being able to kill myself, and I don't hold any anger towards any but Dumbledore, who has placed this curse upon me. He says I have been given two great gifts, but I just think of them both as curses. Life sucks anyway.


January 31st

The staff here thinks that jotting my thoughts down in a journal will help me remember the Final Battle. As if. I remember it, I just don't want to talk to anyone, so I pretend I don't know. I had been knocked unconscious towards the end, but I was awake long enough to learn what would result. If only… No, dwelling in the past will do nothing but bring back pain, and the future is too uncertain, so thinking about that will bring nothing but broken dreams and lost hopes. That's why I'm living in the present now.


February 2nd

I think I'm going to act like I'm better. Then maybe they'll let me go. They're starting to agree more and more that I'm simply depressed, but its so much more than that. They're afraid I'm going to kill myself if they let me go. If only I could. If they don't let me go by the end of the week, I'm going to try to escape. I've already got it planned out, I'd just need a wand. If only they'd let me have a wand unsupervised.


February 4th

They make me write in this thing every other day, and it gets really annoying. A least I don't let them read it. They watch me write in it to make sure I do use it, but I'm able to hide it after I'm done so they never find it. I guess I've kind of gotten use to the practice of putting my thoughts in writing. It was an alien feeling at first, but now I'm constantly filtering through the day to pick out what I'm going to write for an entry the next. I am so bored, I think I'm going to do something to make my life more exciting.


February 7th

Hmmph. I decided to have a little fun two days ago, and they've only just now stopped putting me under 24-hour surveillance and solitary confinement. I'm still being watched carefully, but at least I get my own room now.

The nurse had come in to examine a patient a few beds down from me and I grabbed a surgical knife off of her tray. Before she could even think, I had jammed it into my arm and cut almost all the way across with it. It hurt like Hell, but it felt good. Besides, I had to make sure.

Well, she saw me with the knife in my arm and ran to get help. I was laughing at the confusion I had caused. To my dismay, though, the wound had completely healed over before she had come back. There wasn't even any blood to show I had stabbed myself.

It was pretty funny watching the nurse come back all flustered, dragging along an elderly-looking matron. All I had to do was hide the knife out of sight beneath my sheets without them seeing and pretend like nothing had happened. Triple bonus. I have a room of my own and a sharp knife in my possession, and I got to stir up a little mayhem. I heard that the poor nurse had left or been fired or something.


February 9th

It is two o'clock in the morning and I've been slitting my fingers and wrists all night. I don't sleep anymore. If I do, I'll probably get lost in the past and lose what threads of strength and control I've managed to obtain. I haven't been able to draw a single drop of blood. Not even the nurses can get an easy blood sample anymore. I don't even have any physical scars. I feel it when it cuts through my flesh, though, and I have grown addicted to it. Even the nurses have seen a slight change in my attitude. With this feeling to get me through each night, I've been acting less depressed each day. Maybe they'll let me out soon. Oh, how I can't wait. Once I'm out of here, I'm never coming back. The first thing I'm going to do is probably go get drunk, then maybe laid. I could use to release a bit of my stress. Then, I'm going to kill Dumbledore.


A/N: that felt like a good place to stop. If you guys like it, I can continue it, but I'll only do so if you guys think I should. Please review and tell me what you thought!