The Angel and the Devil

"You are not going to take advantage of my mother!" the tall, blond boy shouted at his father.

He ducked just in time as Lucius threw a glass goblet at his head.

"You have been taught not... to... talk back, you blasted son! You are not to say anything about my relationship with your mother. Now, get out of my sight before I make you cough up blood again! Or perhaps...would you like that?" Lucius breath had become ragged and uneven, from screaming at his heir.

The young Malfoy narrowed his eyes at his father and left the study room. He'd been so pissed off lately by his so called "father". I'm not anything like him. I'll never be anything like him even if that bitch of a father threatens to kill me! Draco swiftly moved through the dark hallways covered by portraits of his past pureblood ancestors.

Draco felt something weighing him down while he walked. At first, he didn't know what it was: then, he understood. It was the feeling of depression. His worthless life had completely pushed himself over the cliff. Damn it! He turned another corridor and walked into his room, one-third the size of a Quidditch field.

His room, compared to Malfoy Manor, wasn't as dark and cold. It was the only room with a few, barely seen rays of sun coming from behind the drawn curtains. The bed was large enough for five people to fit in comfortably. Everything was green, the silken sheets, the expensive carpet, the chairs and couches, everything. The boy sat on his bed, thinking about the terrible events that have happened in the past few months. Dark images flashed in his mind. Images of the fire...of the Dark Lord rising again, and of the pain his mother and he suffered from Lucius. He saw blood, and saw himself running away with his mother, to somewhere away from his Death Eater father. He had failed at running away once before, and in anger, Lucius caught him and used the Crutiatus curse over and over again on him and his mother. How he hated that image! Lucius had only a few days ago let his son and wife out of the dungeon, but suspiciously kept his watch on them with his red, blood-shot eyes.

Lucius had long wanted Draco to become a Death Eater. His son refused him. Lucius threatened to kill him, and would have, had it not been for the Death Lord himself. Voldemort was somehow fond of Lucius young heir, he thought of Draco to be useful...someday.

Draco stood up and looked at his reflection in the mirror. The young boy staring back at him was no longer the one he used to know. His silvery-blond hair had grown uneven. His skin, no longer the perfect, pale flesh it used to be, was red and marked with dozens of bleeding cuts. He touched his baggy eyes on his once perfect face. His whole body, at the height of 6' 4'', was extremely thin. He stared at himself in disbelief. This was no longer the handsome, mischievous Draco he knew. It was someone new; someone who was deeply depressed and filled with anger. With a scream of rage, he smashed the mirror with his hand. He watched it shatter, and fall apart just as his life had already done.