Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
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Life is one meaningless cycle.
I remember when I was younger and my father used to tell me that I was going to be like him.
Grow up into a powerful dark wizard, join the Death Eaters and help Voldermort win the battle over the wizarding world and when I was little I was infatuated with that idea.
I suppose all little boys look up to their father, and I was no different.
That's right. I, Draco Malfoy, was like every other little boy in some ways.
I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps; live how he did; make him proud of me at any cost and I still did when I went to Hogwarts, and through the first three years, but then……..then……..
You stepped up there in my mind.
You were like this candle in the cave of my life; my heart; my conscious.
I never let you know. At least not at first.
I know that you and Potter and Weasley all thought I wanted to be like my father.
I know I acted that way, but I didn't want to be.
Not after I realized I was falling in love with you; one of my worst enemies.
I did pretend to want to be like my father. I wont say I didn't act like I wanted to be and you were insane, because you aren't insane. You are about the most perceptive person I ever met, but I guess you couldn't see through my act, because deep down, though I pretended to want to be like him, I didn't anymore and I pretended for my own safety.
I never joined Voldermort, but I didn't stand against him either.
I guess that makes me almost as bad as my father in a way, for not helping you and your pathetic friends out by telling you everything I could about Voldermort.
I wish I could tell you what you've all been wondering about: my father.
But I can't, because you wont listen to me and you ran away.
I wanted to tell you, you know. I wanted to tell you that Potter's theory that my father was dead is correct, and I know.
Because I killed him.
I heated him, Hermione. I really did. He made me feel like I was a monster and I hated it.
And most of all I hated that he hated you.
Does that make me a monster, Hermione?
Does that fact that I killed my own father make me a monster, even though he was a horrible man and deserved to die?
I have a feeling you would think of me as a monster if you knew that.
But Pansy would never think of me as a monster, not that it matters to me what she thinks of me, because in reality I hate her.
I don't even know why she wants to marry me. I mean, yes she is infatuated with me, but she doesn't love me.
We know that we will never be completely loyal to each other, and believe she knows I do not love her.
My life right now is just one endless cycle.
One night stands with muggles and witches alike, getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself.
It seems to hit me the morning after these one night stands that even though when I am inside of these girls, and they are withering and moaning beneath me and I am spilling my seed they don't compare to you.
I used them to mask the need I have for you.
And when I fuck them and they plead for me to go faster or what ever else it is they ask I have to block out their faces; their voices, because if I don't I miss you even more.
It will never feel the same to be inside one of them as it did to be inside of you; never feel the same to kiss them, to fuck them; their skin will never taste the same; they will never make me feel whole like you do, because no matter what, no matter how good looking the girls are or how good it feels to relieve this sexual need they aren't you.
And you aren't here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life is one meaningless cycle.
I remember when I was younger and my father used to tell me that I was going to be like him.
Grow up into a powerful dark wizard, join the Death Eaters and help Voldermort win the battle over the wizarding world and when I was little I was infatuated with that idea.
I suppose all little boys look up to their father, and I was no different.
That's right. I, Draco Malfoy, was like every other little boy in some ways.
I wanted to follow in my father's footsteps; live how he did; make him proud of me at any cost and I still did when I went to Hogwarts, and through the first three years, but then……..then……..
You stepped up there in my mind.
You were like this candle in the cave of my life; my heart; my conscious.
I never let you know. At least not at first.
I know that you and Potter and Weasley all thought I wanted to be like my father.
I know I acted that way, but I didn't want to be.
Not after I realized I was falling in love with you; one of my worst enemies.
I did pretend to want to be like my father. I wont say I didn't act like I wanted to be and you were insane, because you aren't insane. You are about the most perceptive person I ever met, but I guess you couldn't see through my act, because deep down, though I pretended to want to be like him, I didn't anymore and I pretended for my own safety.
I never joined Voldermort, but I didn't stand against him either.
I guess that makes me almost as bad as my father in a way, for not helping you and your pathetic friends out by telling you everything I could about Voldermort.
I wish I could tell you what you've all been wondering about: my father.
But I can't, because you wont listen to me and you ran away.
I wanted to tell you, you know. I wanted to tell you that Potter's theory that my father was dead is correct, and I know.
Because I killed him.
I heated him, Hermione. I really did. He made me feel like I was a monster and I hated it.
And most of all I hated that he hated you.
Does that make me a monster, Hermione?
Does that fact that I killed my own father make me a monster, even though he was a horrible man and deserved to die?
I have a feeling you would think of me as a monster if you knew that.
But Pansy would never think of me as a monster, not that it matters to me what she thinks of me, because in reality I hate her.
I don't even know why she wants to marry me. I mean, yes she is infatuated with me, but she doesn't love me.
We know that we will never be completely loyal to each other, and believe she knows I do not love her.
My life right now is just one endless cycle.
One night stands with muggles and witches alike, getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself.
It seems to hit me the morning after these one night stands that even though when I am inside of these girls, and they are withering and moaning beneath me and I am spilling my seed they don't compare to you.
I used them to mask the need I have for you.
And when I fuck them and they plead for me to go faster or what ever else it is they ask I have to block out their faces; their voices, because if I don't I miss you even more.
It will never feel the same to be inside one of them as it did to be inside of you; never feel the same to kiss them, to fuck them; their skin will never taste the same; they will never make me feel whole like you do, because no matter what, no matter how good looking the girls are or how good it feels to relieve this sexual need they aren't you.
And you aren't here.
