Post by Draco Malfoy on May 24, 2015 20:41:52 GMT -5
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Draco Lucius Malfoy
Basics
| Full Name: Draco Malfoy | Nickname: Dragon, Ferret, Malfoy |
| Age: 18 | Birthday: 06/05/80 |
| Bloodtype: Pureblood | House: Slytherin |
| Year: Eighth | Home: Malfoy Manor |
| Sexuality: Bisexual | Loyalty: Neutral |
| Wand: Hawthorn, Dragon Heartstring, 9 3/4" | Type: Canon |
Appearance
| Eye Color: Silver/Blue | Hair Color: Light Blond |
| Height/Build: Slim, tall, wiry | Play-By: Tome Felton |
He has the sharp chin and angular features that all Malfoys own. His eyes are sliver/gray for the most part, but on occasion they can look more blue (ie. happy or crying). He has constant bags under his eye due to nightmares/not being able to sleep. He's thinner than he was before, but is slowly starting to put on more weight. He still has most of his muscles, but even they have dwindled a bit. His face is scruffier and his hair is messier than he would have allowed before, mainly from a lack of care. While a lot has changed, he still carries himself with the same pride and dignity as before.
Long sleeves and dark colors, black for the most part. He wears wizard robes when out in public, but at home or in private he prefers to were a simple shirt in whichever color happens to suite him at the moment. The reason for the long sleeves is to hide the dark mark, though he'll slowly become more comfortable with showing it as time moves on. He still has a taste for expensive clothes, but they aren't as outlandishly expensive as previous years. Generally designer clothing that looks casual.
Long sleeves and dark colors, black for the most part. He wears wizard robes when out in public, but at home or in private he prefers to were a simple shirt in whichever color happens to suite him at the moment. The reason for the long sleeves is to hide the dark mark, though he'll slowly become more comfortable with showing it as time moves on. He still has a taste for expensive clothes, but they aren't as outlandishly expensive as previous years. Generally designer clothing that looks casual.
Personality
| Likes: Green apples, piano, alchemy, potions, transfiguration, acceptance. | Dislikes: His left arm, personal history, himself, failure, hiding. |
| Best Traits: Listening, wit, wisdom, piano, alchemy, learning. | Worst Traits Fear, nerves, his mouth, retorts, sarcasm, defensive. |
| Quirks/Habits: Air playing the piano and humming his scales. | BEST Class: Music WORST Class: Art |
| Patronus: doesn't have one | Mirror of Erised: Himself, but without the mark. |
| Dementor: Receiving the mark | Boggart: All the tortured bodies he's seen as well as his dead mother. |
Draco was an arrogant, spiteful bully. His narcissistic nature stemmed from his being spoiled by his parents throughout his childhood. He believed himself to be superior to most people because of his family’s pure lineage as well as great wealth and social standing. He behaved cruelly to mudbloods, blood traitors, Gryffindor students, and anyone who he considered below him. For much of his youth, Draco took after his father, Lucius Malfoy, as a role model and frequently boasted about his family's status and wealth.
It's not that he's much better now, but rather that he doesn't necessarily hold the same ideals. Whatever he says is from old habits, he doesn't care as much about blood status anymore. Well, he tries not to, but every once in awhile he'll catch himself thinking or saying something.
He is quite intelligent and quick-witted, he can make decisions based on limited evidence. He'd been taught how to think on his feet from the moment he could actually use his feet. He's also very determined to see projects all the way through, no matter the size or importance. It's a a bit of a pride thing, not being able to finish what you begin is despicable (or something like that). The Malfoy pride is still present and rears its (sometimes) ugly head whenever an opportunity presents itself (quite often, really). The only thing that's changed is that he can hardly give a crap about blood status or social standings. He's seen too many people die-- too much blood of the same color
It's not that he's much better now, but rather that he doesn't necessarily hold the same ideals. Whatever he says is from old habits, he doesn't care as much about blood status anymore. Well, he tries not to, but every once in awhile he'll catch himself thinking or saying something.
He is quite intelligent and quick-witted, he can make decisions based on limited evidence. He'd been taught how to think on his feet from the moment he could actually use his feet. He's also very determined to see projects all the way through, no matter the size or importance. It's a a bit of a pride thing, not being able to finish what you begin is despicable (or something like that). The Malfoy pride is still present and rears its (sometimes) ugly head whenever an opportunity presents itself (quite often, really). The only thing that's changed is that he can hardly give a crap about blood status or social standings. He's seen too many people die-- too much blood of the same color
History
| Bithplace: Malfoy Manor | Current Residence: Hogwarts/Malfoy Manor |
| Parents: Narcissa Malfoy (nee Black)/Mother/Slytherin Lucius Malfoy/Father/Slytherin | Siblings: n/a |
| Others: literally all of the blacks, malfoys, weasleys, etc. | Pet: Lazrus - Eagle Owl Timber - Cheasapeak Bay Retriever |
Draco was born and raised as a pureblood supremacist. Never had the thought occurred to him that his parents may be wrong. Those that had blood that was anything less than his own were to be treated as scum; diluted blood for a diluted status. As a descendant from both the Black and Malfoy families and heir to the Malfoy ‘throne’, Draco was soaring high above the crowds. He wielded an intense power and no one ever told him any different. His education started at a young age and it began with the brainwashing of Malfoy greatness. He was taught how to behave in public and how to act around the various social standings. He learned how to tell families apart, and what clues that gave ‘mudbloods’ away. Custom and social expectations were drilled into his brain from the very start. No one ever taught him how to listen to his conscience. He was also treated no less than a Malfoy prince, so he had top notch spoiling to help his development along.
Hogwarts eventually rolled into view and no one ever told Draco that there would be others who wouldn’t like him just for his name and how he looked. He was never told that he wasn’t going to be treated like royalty as always. No one ever mentioned how hard it would be to maintain the perfect little pureblood persona everyone needed to see. What confused him the most was his father’s egging him on to befriend the Potter boy. For one, he was a halfblood, but even more than that; he got rid of the Dark Lord. Hadn’t the Dark Lord been a good thing since he was purifying the world? So what if he was famous and his blood line was almost as long as his own? The boy was still a halfblood! That being said, Draco had still been excited to extend his hand in friendship, he’d never been allowed to socialize with the lower bloods and he wanted to see how well he could manipulate the boy. For his family, of course. Draco made sure that the rumors were right and Potter was in the right compartment went he barged in… Only to find that something had beaten him. It was a Weasley scum of all things. The freckled freak hadn’t proved to be much of a problem until Draco realized that they had already befriended each other and Potter trusted the Weasel over him. Rejection hit the blond, and it had hit hard. Another lesson no one had bothered to teach him; rejection hurt. He made sure not to show the hurt on the outside, but he sure as hell felt it within. Over time it would morph into intense dislike, to hatred, and eventually to something else. Fear.
Slytherin was still the greatest of all the houses and Draco had that to look forward to. It was pure. A smile had been on his face the second that hat touched his head. He’d made his parents proud (for the most part) and proceeded to make various connections within the members of his house. Some were still below him, but others were close enough or on the same level so it would be beneficial (hopefully). Never before had he been so proud of himself. The next few days would prove to throw another few bludgers of life lessons at him. He learned the hard way that there would be students out there that hated his house and what they stood for. Because of this he’d been subjected to various catcalls, jokes (not the fun kind), and insults. For the first few days he did nothing. He’d been too preoccupied with not letting his hurt show through. No one had been told of his fluctuation emotions and so that pain turned into hatred. What added salt to the wound was how the other houses interacted with and within each other. They were genuine and warm. It was very different from his own house where they were generally cold and false. Those other houses had actual friendships where all he had were allies, sometimes not even that.
Crabbe and Goyle were the closest things Draco had to friends and he was determined to keep it that way. They were incredibly dim, but that was probably for the best. As the Malfoy grew to detest the others around him he never felt the same way towards them. Of course there were others within his year that were still acceptable, but one of them could quite add up to what those two held. They were by his side no matter what, Draco had been rather touched by that. He’d still belittle them constantly, but it wasn’t the same as when he did it with others. There was a string of affection that went along with it.
As far as insults went; Draco got very good with them. It even got to the point where they would slip out unintentionally, almost on instinct. It started when he tried to keep away from Potter and his crew of blood traitors, but that proved to be nearly impossible. The scarhead was mentioned everywhere he went. There wasn’t a time of the day where he wasn’t being talked about. Eventually he couldn’t help himself and a comment slipped out. Laughter was his reward. More insults translated into more laughter. It didn’t take long before Draco found a sense of house unity (of sorts) with his jokes. The more he let loose the more his popularity grew. Connections were being made and his personal social standing rose higher. His parents had been so proud. Eventually his mouth wouldn’t be able to stop.
Hermione Bloody Granger. She was a mudblood yet she surpassed him in every single subject. It was safe to say that his father was less than pleased. Furious and appalled may have been better adjectives (??? Idk how to grammar). His entire life revolved around being better than filth like her, so why was it not happening? She’d even wormed her way into Potter’s arms of friendship. Disgusting. He hated her most of all. He would go out of his way to make her (and her two boy’s) life hell by whatever means were available to him. In the earlier years he wasn’t as violent. The boy did have some warped sense of morality, but that slowly disappeared the older he grew. Throughout time he figured which words cut the deepest, but had accidentally revealed some of his pressure points as well. Hurt was hidden behind anger. It didn’t make sense for what they shot back at him to hurt, but they did nonetheless. That angered him further. Occasionally the professors would through him these infuriatingly sad looks. He would glare until either class ended or they eventually looked away. There were a few special occasions where they’d say that they had so much hope for him. He’d react and get detention. What he never let anyone see was how this was all tearing him up inside. Draco wasn’t the perfect little boy he was meant to be. Potter and co. were. Screw them.
Father started disappearing for days at a time, each time left him looking worse for wear. Mother was becoming increasingly worried and so was Draco. It didn’t take any advanced skills of deduction to figure out what was happening. The Dark Lord had returned. He could only describe how he felt as a mixture of excitement and apprehension. On one hand the mudbloods and other forms of filth would finally get what they deserved, but on the other hand… His father. It was Lucius’s own fault that he was in that boat, but what would that mean for Draco and his mother? Draco still cared about his father, but the highest levels of respect were slowly falling apart. One day Potter was on the front of the Daily Prophet and there was an accompanying letter from his mother. Father was going to be in a lot of danger—them too. Again, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. He and his family were in grave danger and it was all Potter’s fault. There’d been a confrontation with Potter’s gang and the Dark Lord with his Death Eaters. Somewhere in the middle of all this his father had gravely messed up. It could only be the “Chosen One’s” fault. Wasn’t it always?
Malfoy Manor had always felt empty to Draco, but due to his father’s attempts to restore his standings it was busier than he’d ever seen it. Privacy was a foreign concept at this point. There was always someone there to ask what he was doing or to drag him into small talk, mainly his aunt Bella. The Lestrange couple had actually moved in with them along with Voldemort. Draco figured it was so auntie could be close to the Dark Lord at all times. While he understood wanting to remain in good graces, she scared Draco sometimes. It was no secret that his aunt was the most intense follower.
Since Draco was becoming a fine young man Bellatrix had decided to take him under her wing. She had grand plans of making him the perfect little Death Eater. At first Draco had been more than willing to go along, but that was before he knew how violent the training was. Being attacked by a hippogriff was nothing compared by what his aunt (and sometimes others) put him through. He eventually was able to build up some form of a resistance to the cruciatus curse. Unless it was when Bella was in any type of a mood. Fortunately, that particular curse wasn’t the main focus with his trainings. Unfortunately, it still had to deal with a lot of pain and memories that he’ll never be able to remove. One of the more prominent of the memories was the one where had casted a cruciatus curse for the first time. He watched the man die a week later. It really hadn’t been a man at that point.
When it neared the end of the summer Draco learned the Dark Lord had plans for him. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it definitely had not been what is was. Kill Albus Dumbledore. All the times he’d talked about the old coon dying had ran through his head. He thought he meant it before, but then he realized he never really had. His hate for the man wasn’t any less (but it was, actually), but still… Murder was something Draco was not ready for. But what choice did he have? And if he succeeded then that would be great for Draco and his family. But what if he failed? That would be unthinkable, so he just wouldn’t. It wasn’t like he and his entire family would die or anything. No, he was going to kill the headmaster and all would be well. Hogwarts would fall, and then the rest of the world (or something like that).
Draco had to admit that his first attempts were abysmal. It was more of testing the waters (he wasn’t having a battle within himself) to see what he could get away with. It was sloppy and people noticed. Specifically a mop of dark hair who was holier than thou. Complications had arisen with that; mainly Snape breathing down his neck, letters from his parents that were littered with forced happiness and nervous breakdowns, and his special little visits with the Dark Lord just to show how much he messed up. Never before had he looked anything less than perfect, but now his hair was getting raggedy and his face was unshaven half of the time. He even had bags under his eyes. It reached the point where he had to take a nice, long look in the mirror and realized how messed up it was and that he wanted out. It wasn’t that he was becoming any less racist, but he never wanted to see the things he did. Horrible person he may be, he wasn’t a killer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice.
The Dark Lord had efficiently taken over his life with the mission. Draco could feel him analyzing his every move, waiting for him to mess up. It took Draco a few months to come to the realization that he was never meant to succeed. This was his father’s punishment—Draco’s demise. That wasn’t exactly a booster for the morals. In fact, it drove Draco into an entirely new personality. He was quiet, absent most of the time, hardly ate, slept at odd hours (if he slept at all), and generally nervous. People were beginning to notice, especially those in his house. A few of the Slytherins actually knew that he was on a mission, but they didn’t know what for. He wasn’t allowed to say—not that he’d want to anyway. Well, he actually wanted to tell Crabbe and Goyle. He said what he could and they still supported him. They even guarded him when he had to go and work on repairing the vanishing cabinet.
It would be a lie to say that Draco wasn’t having a multitude of second thoughts the night everything went down. How in the hell would he be able to do something like this? He had to, for his family, but… He couldn’t. When he faced Dumbledore on top of the clock tower all his hate for the man just drained away. He was facing death, yet he offered safety for Draco and his family. Safety was not guaranteed in his current situation. He knew that they could actually be hidden, and hidden well. They did it with the Potters, they would have lasted longer if not for Wormtail. He’d been so tempted to take the offer, but then his entourage arrived. The moment was over, his chance lost. One moment he’d felt the first sense of hope in a long time, the next saw an old, broken man laying on the courtyard below.
Draco couldn’t even go to the school next year. One of his biggest wishes had finally been granted (Snape as headmaster) and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel happy about it. Not after the price he had to pay for it to happen.
During his time away from Hogwarts a different form of knowledge was seared into his soul (but mostly his arm). The Dark Lord had determined that it was time for the young Malfoy to receive his very own brand of hate, also known as the Dark Mark. He would take thousands of his aunt’s crucios then ever experience something like that again. He was bedridden for a week after the procedure was complete. One isn’t supposed to talk about the ceremony so Draco had been completely unprepared for what was to come. His only indication of its unpleasantries were his father’s (nearly) horrified looks. The elder Malfoy didn’t express much, but Draco could still read it like an open book. He wanted to hate his father for not being able to stop it, but how could he?
Another event to stand out was the capturing of Potter and his friends. He recognized the ‘criminal’ the second he was dragged though the door, blown up face and all. How could he not? The accompanying Weasley and Granger were a dead giveaway. His heart had dropped when he saw them in his foyer. He still had hope that their crew was out there, planning for some way to end this all. Not that he was able to outwardly express his views. He did what he could and lied. He lied about not knowing who they were, and he lied about being frustrated and angry that they escaped. He was only upset that they took his wand. That’s a lie too; he loosed his grip on purpose.
The next time he saw Potter was the night everyone would rather never happen. Draco and his two closest companions had followed the trio into a room he was more than familiar with. They were searching for some diadem or another, must have been quite important considering they left the battle to go look. It took Draco only a few minutes to see how much his friends had changed, particularly Crabbe. He was less willing to follow whatever Draco had to say. Any other time and he would have been pleased, but the current situation was not being helped by it. Fiend Fire was nigh uncontrollable, even with a highly advanced wizard casting the charm. That and Draco didn’t want to kill them. No, his friend just had to kill himself instead. Really, it was more Draco’s fault—he’s the one who let the hand slip. Overall the battle was a large turning point for the Malfoys. He thought he’d changed sides haflway through, but he couldn’t leave his parents all alone looking the way they did. Maybe it didn’t matter since the three of them ended up in the Great Hall anyway.
After the battle they went home to try to collect themselves. A few days had passed before they were summoned to the Ministry. This was only to be expected considering who they’d been aligned with. Draco and his mother got off free. Narcissa didn’t carry the mark, and Draco was still young. Lucius suffered a different fate and ended up in Azkaban. He was lucky to not receive a life sentence. He’ll only be in there for a number of years instead of until death due to the fact he eventually switched sides. The actual trials to determine all of this had lasted for three months.
As soon as Draco had been cleared he received an owl… From Hogwarts. Out of all the letters to receive, an invitation to complete his education was not one of them. It wasn’t a hard choice for him to make on whether he wanted to accept or not. He’d missed nearly two years, society hated him, and he had nowhere else to go. He’d would have at least some form of privacy. Maybe. It was worth a shot.
Hogwarts eventually rolled into view and no one ever told Draco that there would be others who wouldn’t like him just for his name and how he looked. He was never told that he wasn’t going to be treated like royalty as always. No one ever mentioned how hard it would be to maintain the perfect little pureblood persona everyone needed to see. What confused him the most was his father’s egging him on to befriend the Potter boy. For one, he was a halfblood, but even more than that; he got rid of the Dark Lord. Hadn’t the Dark Lord been a good thing since he was purifying the world? So what if he was famous and his blood line was almost as long as his own? The boy was still a halfblood! That being said, Draco had still been excited to extend his hand in friendship, he’d never been allowed to socialize with the lower bloods and he wanted to see how well he could manipulate the boy. For his family, of course. Draco made sure that the rumors were right and Potter was in the right compartment went he barged in… Only to find that something had beaten him. It was a Weasley scum of all things. The freckled freak hadn’t proved to be much of a problem until Draco realized that they had already befriended each other and Potter trusted the Weasel over him. Rejection hit the blond, and it had hit hard. Another lesson no one had bothered to teach him; rejection hurt. He made sure not to show the hurt on the outside, but he sure as hell felt it within. Over time it would morph into intense dislike, to hatred, and eventually to something else. Fear.
Slytherin was still the greatest of all the houses and Draco had that to look forward to. It was pure. A smile had been on his face the second that hat touched his head. He’d made his parents proud (for the most part) and proceeded to make various connections within the members of his house. Some were still below him, but others were close enough or on the same level so it would be beneficial (hopefully). Never before had he been so proud of himself. The next few days would prove to throw another few bludgers of life lessons at him. He learned the hard way that there would be students out there that hated his house and what they stood for. Because of this he’d been subjected to various catcalls, jokes (not the fun kind), and insults. For the first few days he did nothing. He’d been too preoccupied with not letting his hurt show through. No one had been told of his fluctuation emotions and so that pain turned into hatred. What added salt to the wound was how the other houses interacted with and within each other. They were genuine and warm. It was very different from his own house where they were generally cold and false. Those other houses had actual friendships where all he had were allies, sometimes not even that.
Crabbe and Goyle were the closest things Draco had to friends and he was determined to keep it that way. They were incredibly dim, but that was probably for the best. As the Malfoy grew to detest the others around him he never felt the same way towards them. Of course there were others within his year that were still acceptable, but one of them could quite add up to what those two held. They were by his side no matter what, Draco had been rather touched by that. He’d still belittle them constantly, but it wasn’t the same as when he did it with others. There was a string of affection that went along with it.
As far as insults went; Draco got very good with them. It even got to the point where they would slip out unintentionally, almost on instinct. It started when he tried to keep away from Potter and his crew of blood traitors, but that proved to be nearly impossible. The scarhead was mentioned everywhere he went. There wasn’t a time of the day where he wasn’t being talked about. Eventually he couldn’t help himself and a comment slipped out. Laughter was his reward. More insults translated into more laughter. It didn’t take long before Draco found a sense of house unity (of sorts) with his jokes. The more he let loose the more his popularity grew. Connections were being made and his personal social standing rose higher. His parents had been so proud. Eventually his mouth wouldn’t be able to stop.
Hermione Bloody Granger. She was a mudblood yet she surpassed him in every single subject. It was safe to say that his father was less than pleased. Furious and appalled may have been better adjectives (??? Idk how to grammar). His entire life revolved around being better than filth like her, so why was it not happening? She’d even wormed her way into Potter’s arms of friendship. Disgusting. He hated her most of all. He would go out of his way to make her (and her two boy’s) life hell by whatever means were available to him. In the earlier years he wasn’t as violent. The boy did have some warped sense of morality, but that slowly disappeared the older he grew. Throughout time he figured which words cut the deepest, but had accidentally revealed some of his pressure points as well. Hurt was hidden behind anger. It didn’t make sense for what they shot back at him to hurt, but they did nonetheless. That angered him further. Occasionally the professors would through him these infuriatingly sad looks. He would glare until either class ended or they eventually looked away. There were a few special occasions where they’d say that they had so much hope for him. He’d react and get detention. What he never let anyone see was how this was all tearing him up inside. Draco wasn’t the perfect little boy he was meant to be. Potter and co. were. Screw them.
Father started disappearing for days at a time, each time left him looking worse for wear. Mother was becoming increasingly worried and so was Draco. It didn’t take any advanced skills of deduction to figure out what was happening. The Dark Lord had returned. He could only describe how he felt as a mixture of excitement and apprehension. On one hand the mudbloods and other forms of filth would finally get what they deserved, but on the other hand… His father. It was Lucius’s own fault that he was in that boat, but what would that mean for Draco and his mother? Draco still cared about his father, but the highest levels of respect were slowly falling apart. One day Potter was on the front of the Daily Prophet and there was an accompanying letter from his mother. Father was going to be in a lot of danger—them too. Again, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. He and his family were in grave danger and it was all Potter’s fault. There’d been a confrontation with Potter’s gang and the Dark Lord with his Death Eaters. Somewhere in the middle of all this his father had gravely messed up. It could only be the “Chosen One’s” fault. Wasn’t it always?
Malfoy Manor had always felt empty to Draco, but due to his father’s attempts to restore his standings it was busier than he’d ever seen it. Privacy was a foreign concept at this point. There was always someone there to ask what he was doing or to drag him into small talk, mainly his aunt Bella. The Lestrange couple had actually moved in with them along with Voldemort. Draco figured it was so auntie could be close to the Dark Lord at all times. While he understood wanting to remain in good graces, she scared Draco sometimes. It was no secret that his aunt was the most intense follower.
Since Draco was becoming a fine young man Bellatrix had decided to take him under her wing. She had grand plans of making him the perfect little Death Eater. At first Draco had been more than willing to go along, but that was before he knew how violent the training was. Being attacked by a hippogriff was nothing compared by what his aunt (and sometimes others) put him through. He eventually was able to build up some form of a resistance to the cruciatus curse. Unless it was when Bella was in any type of a mood. Fortunately, that particular curse wasn’t the main focus with his trainings. Unfortunately, it still had to deal with a lot of pain and memories that he’ll never be able to remove. One of the more prominent of the memories was the one where had casted a cruciatus curse for the first time. He watched the man die a week later. It really hadn’t been a man at that point.
When it neared the end of the summer Draco learned the Dark Lord had plans for him. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it definitely had not been what is was. Kill Albus Dumbledore. All the times he’d talked about the old coon dying had ran through his head. He thought he meant it before, but then he realized he never really had. His hate for the man wasn’t any less (but it was, actually), but still… Murder was something Draco was not ready for. But what choice did he have? And if he succeeded then that would be great for Draco and his family. But what if he failed? That would be unthinkable, so he just wouldn’t. It wasn’t like he and his entire family would die or anything. No, he was going to kill the headmaster and all would be well. Hogwarts would fall, and then the rest of the world (or something like that).
Draco had to admit that his first attempts were abysmal. It was more of testing the waters (he wasn’t having a battle within himself) to see what he could get away with. It was sloppy and people noticed. Specifically a mop of dark hair who was holier than thou. Complications had arisen with that; mainly Snape breathing down his neck, letters from his parents that were littered with forced happiness and nervous breakdowns, and his special little visits with the Dark Lord just to show how much he messed up. Never before had he looked anything less than perfect, but now his hair was getting raggedy and his face was unshaven half of the time. He even had bags under his eyes. It reached the point where he had to take a nice, long look in the mirror and realized how messed up it was and that he wanted out. It wasn’t that he was becoming any less racist, but he never wanted to see the things he did. Horrible person he may be, he wasn’t a killer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice.
The Dark Lord had efficiently taken over his life with the mission. Draco could feel him analyzing his every move, waiting for him to mess up. It took Draco a few months to come to the realization that he was never meant to succeed. This was his father’s punishment—Draco’s demise. That wasn’t exactly a booster for the morals. In fact, it drove Draco into an entirely new personality. He was quiet, absent most of the time, hardly ate, slept at odd hours (if he slept at all), and generally nervous. People were beginning to notice, especially those in his house. A few of the Slytherins actually knew that he was on a mission, but they didn’t know what for. He wasn’t allowed to say—not that he’d want to anyway. Well, he actually wanted to tell Crabbe and Goyle. He said what he could and they still supported him. They even guarded him when he had to go and work on repairing the vanishing cabinet.
It would be a lie to say that Draco wasn’t having a multitude of second thoughts the night everything went down. How in the hell would he be able to do something like this? He had to, for his family, but… He couldn’t. When he faced Dumbledore on top of the clock tower all his hate for the man just drained away. He was facing death, yet he offered safety for Draco and his family. Safety was not guaranteed in his current situation. He knew that they could actually be hidden, and hidden well. They did it with the Potters, they would have lasted longer if not for Wormtail. He’d been so tempted to take the offer, but then his entourage arrived. The moment was over, his chance lost. One moment he’d felt the first sense of hope in a long time, the next saw an old, broken man laying on the courtyard below.
Draco couldn’t even go to the school next year. One of his biggest wishes had finally been granted (Snape as headmaster) and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel happy about it. Not after the price he had to pay for it to happen.
During his time away from Hogwarts a different form of knowledge was seared into his soul (but mostly his arm). The Dark Lord had determined that it was time for the young Malfoy to receive his very own brand of hate, also known as the Dark Mark. He would take thousands of his aunt’s crucios then ever experience something like that again. He was bedridden for a week after the procedure was complete. One isn’t supposed to talk about the ceremony so Draco had been completely unprepared for what was to come. His only indication of its unpleasantries were his father’s (nearly) horrified looks. The elder Malfoy didn’t express much, but Draco could still read it like an open book. He wanted to hate his father for not being able to stop it, but how could he?
Another event to stand out was the capturing of Potter and his friends. He recognized the ‘criminal’ the second he was dragged though the door, blown up face and all. How could he not? The accompanying Weasley and Granger were a dead giveaway. His heart had dropped when he saw them in his foyer. He still had hope that their crew was out there, planning for some way to end this all. Not that he was able to outwardly express his views. He did what he could and lied. He lied about not knowing who they were, and he lied about being frustrated and angry that they escaped. He was only upset that they took his wand. That’s a lie too; he loosed his grip on purpose.
The next time he saw Potter was the night everyone would rather never happen. Draco and his two closest companions had followed the trio into a room he was more than familiar with. They were searching for some diadem or another, must have been quite important considering they left the battle to go look. It took Draco only a few minutes to see how much his friends had changed, particularly Crabbe. He was less willing to follow whatever Draco had to say. Any other time and he would have been pleased, but the current situation was not being helped by it. Fiend Fire was nigh uncontrollable, even with a highly advanced wizard casting the charm. That and Draco didn’t want to kill them. No, his friend just had to kill himself instead. Really, it was more Draco’s fault—he’s the one who let the hand slip. Overall the battle was a large turning point for the Malfoys. He thought he’d changed sides haflway through, but he couldn’t leave his parents all alone looking the way they did. Maybe it didn’t matter since the three of them ended up in the Great Hall anyway.
After the battle they went home to try to collect themselves. A few days had passed before they were summoned to the Ministry. This was only to be expected considering who they’d been aligned with. Draco and his mother got off free. Narcissa didn’t carry the mark, and Draco was still young. Lucius suffered a different fate and ended up in Azkaban. He was lucky to not receive a life sentence. He’ll only be in there for a number of years instead of until death due to the fact he eventually switched sides. The actual trials to determine all of this had lasted for three months.
As soon as Draco had been cleared he received an owl… From Hogwarts. Out of all the letters to receive, an invitation to complete his education was not one of them. It wasn’t a hard choice for him to make on whether he wanted to accept or not. He’d missed nearly two years, society hated him, and he had nowhere else to go. He’d would have at least some form of privacy. Maybe. It was worth a shot.
No matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't turn away. He wanted to place a hand on the freezing white stone, but he felt as though his touch would violate the body within. Then again, hadn't he already? A grimace spread across his lips at his last memory of the man. He didn't allow himself to break eye contact with the tomb, the man didn't deserve that. The eighteen year old was very aware that it was not his curse that had actually killed the man, but it had been his actions. His fault.
If Draco could go back in time he would take the old coon up on his offer for safety. Hell, he would have gone to his office long before and beg for help, on his knees if need be. Past Draco would have found the simple act to be disgusting, but now it's all he could have hoped for. A small part inside of him still found it disgusting, but he tried his best to ignore it. The war had taught him a lot, and one thing was how to not be such an ass. Kind of. The tomb starring at him was evidence he couldn't ignore. A short, bitter laugh fell through his mouth.
He often wondered why they even let him of all people return. Sure, the Ministry cleared him as A-okay, but the fading mark on his arm was a grim reminder of all he had put the school, and the wizarding community, through. Guilt was once an emotion Draco avoided at all costs, but now he was riddled with it. It had taken a while to get used to. He still wasn't. He hardly deserved to be, honestly. He just wanted to know, for someone to confirm that he was on the right path, that there was something that he was doing which was right for once.
His fingertips made a trail through the minuscule droplets on the marble. A ray of light broke through the mist. It was as cold as death. Draco jerked his hand away as though he's been scalded. Weren't freezing burns a thing? Perhaps it was that. No, it wasn't anywhere near cold enough, it had just been the past. God, he needed to think about things that were less dreary, it was really starting to affect his life. Not sleeping, eating troubles, graying skin, bags under his eyes, and he could even swear that his hair was thinning or something.
He managed to tear his eyes away from the coffin to look at the sun which was just beginning to peak over the horizon. It had already begun to warm up the air, something Draco was rather grateful for seeing as he was only in a turtleneck, not a jacket in sight. He was also lucky that the fabric of his shirt was black, made the light warmer. He glanced down at the marble again. There was a noticeable chill.
The slytherin sighed and gave up trying to fight what was going on in his head. What happened was gong to happen. Trying to fight it was energy being wasted. He sank to the wet grass below him and wrapped his hand around his knees, efficiently dragging them to his chest. He let it all play back; his inability to control the tremors raking through him, the wand flying across the room, his aunt breathing in his ear, the flash of green, all of it. What stood out the most was how gracefully he fell, his arms spread wide as if to greet Death like a friend. So serene. His breaths were stuttered.
"I'm sorry."
If Draco could go back in time he would take the old coon up on his offer for safety. Hell, he would have gone to his office long before and beg for help, on his knees if need be. Past Draco would have found the simple act to be disgusting, but now it's all he could have hoped for. A small part inside of him still found it disgusting, but he tried his best to ignore it. The war had taught him a lot, and one thing was how to not be such an ass. Kind of. The tomb starring at him was evidence he couldn't ignore. A short, bitter laugh fell through his mouth.
He often wondered why they even let him of all people return. Sure, the Ministry cleared him as A-okay, but the fading mark on his arm was a grim reminder of all he had put the school, and the wizarding community, through. Guilt was once an emotion Draco avoided at all costs, but now he was riddled with it. It had taken a while to get used to. He still wasn't. He hardly deserved to be, honestly. He just wanted to know, for someone to confirm that he was on the right path, that there was something that he was doing which was right for once.
His fingertips made a trail through the minuscule droplets on the marble. A ray of light broke through the mist. It was as cold as death. Draco jerked his hand away as though he's been scalded. Weren't freezing burns a thing? Perhaps it was that. No, it wasn't anywhere near cold enough, it had just been the past. God, he needed to think about things that were less dreary, it was really starting to affect his life. Not sleeping, eating troubles, graying skin, bags under his eyes, and he could even swear that his hair was thinning or something.
He managed to tear his eyes away from the coffin to look at the sun which was just beginning to peak over the horizon. It had already begun to warm up the air, something Draco was rather grateful for seeing as he was only in a turtleneck, not a jacket in sight. He was also lucky that the fabric of his shirt was black, made the light warmer. He glanced down at the marble again. There was a noticeable chill.
The slytherin sighed and gave up trying to fight what was going on in his head. What happened was gong to happen. Trying to fight it was energy being wasted. He sank to the wet grass below him and wrapped his hand around his knees, efficiently dragging them to his chest. He let it all play back; his inability to control the tremors raking through him, the wand flying across the room, his aunt breathing in his ear, the flash of green, all of it. What stood out the most was how gracefully he fell, his arms spread wide as if to greet Death like a friend. So serene. His breaths were stuttered.
"I'm sorry."
OOC
| Alias: Ellyse | Age: 16 (04/22/1999) |
| Timezone: -5 | ur cool: this is an empty space. do not change this. |
| Other Characters?: @ellyse | Codeword: lol there isn't one, just read the damn rules |
Made by Riley at THQ!
