Draco had always enjoyed the fame – the eyes that had always followed him as he flaunted his fortune and position in society. The admiring and envying glances was Draco's favourite cloak.
The people who swarmed to him, and their sycophantic behaviour, was the confirmation he needed that his position was firm and unshakeable. His mere glance at them was something they strove to gain: a confirmation of their own that he acknowledged their existence and could one day come to their aid.
His father's reign and influence had convinced him that the prestige would last long after he passed the mantle onto an heir of his own. Just as his family history lessons had assured him and every Malfoy Lord since they had first landed on British soil, but things had changed after the war.
The fame was still there – the eyes still followed him everywhere.
Distrustful eyes that expected him to start a massacre in a whim, forgetting he was barely a graduate of Hogwarts himself. The stares were the same, they came from the same people, yet there was only regret at being known. The weight of this new cloak was much heavier.
It was also a cloak he had to shoulder himself. His father's actions hadn't been pardonable – two wars of supporting the losing side was a definite Azkaban sentence. Potter had only barely managed to save Draco from the same fate. Draco could only barely assure himself that the whispers and stares were still an improvement over the presence of Dementors.
The pressure of always acting perfectly – non-threatening, non-offensive, approaching no one too quickly, and never moving away too quickly – soon became something even Draco was no longer able to bear.
There was a time when he believed that all fame was good fame.
It was only good fame if you were able to do something with it.
There really was little anyone could do with the reputation of being a Death Eater in the post-war wizarding world.
Draco stared his barren apartment. He had abandoned his trunk near the door. Seeing this space had made everything suddenly seem more real than the daze he had been for the last year. The sound of traffic passed loudly near his window, and the yelling of muggle strangers filtered through the din every now and again.
"I did hear that someone would be moving in here. I didn't expect you to be so young." A belated knock sounded on his door after Draco spun around in shock. The woman looked apologetic, hand still resting on the door Draco realized he hadn't fully closed.
She waved Draco's unspoken introduction away. "I was just heading out for some quick errands and noticed your door open. I live just down the corridor, apartment 371. You look around the same age as my grandchildren." The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval before sighing. "But it's not my place to judge. If you need anything, even if it's just a cup of tea, my door is open to you."
His door clicked shut with a last wave from the frail hand.
Draco allowed himself to collapse on the couch, clouds of dust rising with his movement, with a strangely freeing feeling in his heart.
He pulled out his wand and stared at it as it lay on his palms like any other piece of wood would. Draco could snap it – it would be all too easy to simply cut off another thread that linked him to the wizarding world.
But he thought of his mother alone in one of the properties they had managed to keep in Germany. She would be alone in the wizarding world then – isolated for being a traitor to the dark yet with a Death Eater husband and son. The Dark had known she had lied when Potter had mysteriously come back to life to face the Dark Lord again.
His mother had put information of Draco's wellbeing beyond her alignment in the midst of battle, and that wasn't something Draco could selfishly forsake while his mother grieved for everything she had known.
He could be just Draco even with a wand in his possession.
The son of Lucius and Narcissa didn't have to be a muggle.
He didn't need to be a wizard either.
Written for [731 words]
Hogwarts Assignment: Ancient Civilization
Task #1 - Prompt: Write about someone leading another life (whether reincarnation or a fresh start).