Little

There he goes again, with his horrid little scar and his blithering little friends. I've heard that the Mudblood and the disgrace have gotten together, and it all fits, because if they have a brat he'll be just like scarboy - a mongrel, a half-breed who can't grasp the concept of 'every man for himself'. Oh, no, with Potter it's always you run away and stay alive, I'll stay right here and fight the great unbeatable evil and get brutally and honourably murdered because I'm valiant, I'm brave, I'm selfless, I'm Harry Potter... it sickens me.

***

What is it with those stupid Gryffindors? They're all for saving the world and killing the Dark Lord... they talk about His downfall as if it were even remotely possible. Their puny little minds refuse to understand it - we must join forces with Him to survive this war. There is no hope in resistance. Why? Because we cannot work against him, therefore we must work with him. It's purely logical.

But even I, Draco Malfoy, the only son and heir of a loyal and rich Death Eater, am beginning to doubt my cause a little. Why isn't there an option of fighting with no one and simply standing at the sidelines and watching it all unfold? What good will it do me to go around kissing the robes of a scaly, half-dead man bent on world domination, who will kill me without a second thought if He doesn't like the way I say 'yes, master'? I do not want a war. I want to settle in a huge black mansion in the countryside with a beautiful blond pureblood witch . I want to poke fun at the lowlife servant house-elves around me doing my bidding. Maybe I'd extort a few people here and there for my own amusement, too. I want to bend the rules a little; I don't want to murder anyone. I am not a doer. I am a watcher. I am!

***

Father has just sent me a little letter. It didn't even come with the traditional box of sweets and chocolates. He sent it to inform me that I would be getting my Dark Mark at the end of this term, back home at the Manor. He told be to be prepared for 'alarming pain', and 'educated' me in the ways of 'pleasing the Dark Lord', which included submission and silence. He concluded the note by saying that I would be in the drawing room at midnight on the Twenty-seventh of June. He gave me no choice. He simply told me.

Father didn't even sign it.

I am a little scared of him, to tell you the truth. He wants me to be exactly like him, he wants me to be his precise copy, with no mistakes whatsoever. Well, he got what he wanted. He refuses to comprehend that I am not his little toy to play around with and to show off to his homicidal Death Eater friends every time a party rolls around. I am his son. I have my own desires, my own faults, my own little needs and wants.

What do I want, father?

I want to live a little.