The Forgotten Hero

The Forgotten Hero

People hate me for who I am, what I represent. They will always and I cannot do anything about it. I had the chance, just once, but then Potter came along, that Potter. They never would've guessed what I've been through for them, never known I had that chance. And if they did, they wouldn't tell, for if they did no one would believe them. No one would admit what I had sacrificed for them, what I would never get back, what one Draco Malfoy can accomplish. Yet, it was I, Draco Malfoy, who ended the reign of terror, I who had to suffer. They'd never guess.

Voldemort was gone, thanks to me; but it was me who was forgotten; me who was left in a pit of anguish, pain, and despair. No, I do not loath Potter for this, for he had no part in it. Instead, I blame my father, for it is he who put me through this. Yet, I should honor him, for teaching me the very potion to brew for this use. He who was stupid enough to know that I would never stay loyal to the dark side. He never would've dreamed that I would one day be the downfall of him and his master. Never. For Voldemort, powerful when with his tribe of Death Eaters, is weak for he dwells upon the magic of Unicorn blood. Without it, he would be nothing more than a memory. It was I who thought of this; I who acted upon my will to fool him and bring him down, Draco Malfoy. But there was a price to pay for this. The cost was my magic. Without it, I'd be only a Squib, an insult to the family name, a stain on the tapestry that was the Malfoy family tree, but it was worth it. Later, I turned in my father and his henchmen to the Ministry; it wasn't at all hard for they were helpless without their master to guide them. And yet it was Potter who got the credit for this; Potter who wold be praised for this; Potter the Hero. But no one would remember me for what I did, no one. I shall be forgotten.

Have you ever felt the despair of being forgotten? It hurts far more than any curse can penetrate. Glancing at the dagger in my hand, then up at the constellation that shared my name, The dragon of the sky, the sound of the Christmas banquet ringing up through the air, over these frosted hills. I was the only heir to the name of Malfoy. And with this thought, I plunged the dagger into my heart, my blood spurting out like the petals of some hideous flower. They say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes. In a way this is true, like a broken down slide show machine on fast forward, culminating into the very night, the last night of my life. And soon I was flying, soaring above Hogwarts and into the sky, eternally remembered as Draco Malfoy, the Forgotten Hero.