The Atrocities of Draco Malfoy

I am a murderer. I am a Death Eater. I am a coward.

That's what they think.

Always so quick to judge. Notice how they like to focus the blame on someone else. Anyone else. None of this was their fault. They're innocent. No one to blame but me. The bad guy.

I ask you: if someone you cared about, someone you loved more than anyone else in the entire world, if they were in danger, wouldn't you do anything in your power to save them?

Even if it meant going against everything you believed in?

I was not raised to be a Death Eater. I was not groomed to follow in the footsteps of my father, as so many people seem to think. When I was younger, I asked my father what the mark on his arm meant. He sent me from the room without a word. I asked my mother, and she explained to me as gently as possible that before I was born, there was a man who believed in the purity of blood. He gathered together followers that shared his views and began to cleanse the wizarding population. My father was one of these followers.

I asked, what happened to the man?

He's gone now, she replied. He lost control of his power and now his followers are either in jail or reformed.

Why are they in jail, I asked?

Because people didn't understand them, she answered. People thought they were wrong and didn't want to let them continue doing what they had been. So they were in jail.

Can I be one of the followers, I asked? If Father was one, I want to be one.

No. Mother was now angry for some reason. She told me that I could not be one, and to stop asking questions.

Years later, I finally understood what Mother had been explaining to me. Voldemort was a killer. He killed muggles and mudbloods because they were unfit. They were dirty. They didn't deserve to live. Father had supported that view in his youth and continued to do so after the second rising.

Mother did not want that for me.

Do what you will, Father told me. Just don't dishonor the Malfoy name.

Be safe, Mother whispered in my ear. Don't risk your neck. Stay as close to neutral as you can.

I should have listened to Mother. Were it not for my thirst to prove myself to Father, I would not be in this situation.

After the Dark Lord rose again, I began delving deeper and deeper into the dark arts. I wanted to be as proficient in them as I could. I wanted to be in Voldemort's inner circle. Most of all, I wanted to make Father proud.

I dug myself in too deep.

After Father was sent to Azkaban, Voldemort called me to him. He told me that I was ready to become a Death Eater and serve at his right hand, take my father's place. As initiation, I would have to prove my allegiance to him.

I would have to kill.

I was hesitant. Up until this point, I had wanted this. More than anything. But now I was beginning to question. I was only sixteen; what if someone found out that I had murdered? My entire life would be ruined. I'd be in prison with my father. Not to mention the fact that deep down, I was scared. I admit it; I was frightened out of my mind. I didn't want to kill anyone. Sure, I'd entertained thoughts of taking out Potter when his back was turned, but in all reality I admired him. He was stronger than most people gave him credit for. People respected him because he was good. I wanted that strength. I wanted that respect. I didn't want to be thought of as evil for the rest of my life.

Then the suggestion was reworded. Kill, or be killed. My mother would be, too.

I had no choice. My assignment: to kill Albus Dumbledore.

The only man who had ever accepted me for what I was, not because he was intimidated by my family's wealth or background. Not because he was indebted in some way or another to my father.

He saw good in me.

And I had to kill him. It was that, or my mother would be killed. I didn't really care about myself; leave my corpse to the buzzards, for all I care. But my mother...

She is the only person who has ever loved me.

I did it for her.

Only I couldn't even do it. Snape had to do it. So I guess I'm just as cowardly as everyone makes me out to be. Just as weak.

And maybe I am a murderer. I might as well be, anyway. It was my job. If it hadn't been for me, Albus Dumbledore would still be alive.

And maybe I am a Death Eater. After all, there is a tattoo on my arm.

But a tattoo doesn't dictate what I am. And an assignment does not dictate what I do.

They think I'm evil.

I suppose they also think that there is only good and bad. Black and White.

They do not see the shades of gray.