My Life

"Watching my parents together makes me want to pull my teeth out. The way they always talk in low whispers and argue in such a caring way...as if they actually love each other. It's sickening...this act they pull, the roles they play.

It's just so stupid. For one thing, my dad is always drinking. Half the time he doesn't know what he's doing or saying. Hell, I bet he doesn't even know who he is.

Some people have these delusions about how magnificent the Malfoy Manor is; how beautiful the gardens are and how our furniture is so intricate and antique. But in all honestly, the place reeks of alcohol and burning flesh.

Yes, burning flesh. I don't know if you've heard, but my father is a Death Eater. Yeah, I know. It's incredibly lame to be kneeling at some old bald guy's feet, kissing his robes. My father would probably lick his balls if asked.

'Life at Malfoy Manor'... If the Muggles made it into a soap opera on one of their stupid televisions, they'd have the perfect people playing the perfect family living in the perfect house living the perfect life.

What a load of complete bullshit. I mean, I never even speak to my parents. Ever. We always send house elves with messages. Dinner consists merely of fancy wines and small talk between my mother and father.

Everyone thinks we have extravagant parties and dinners for the rich and evil. That's also bullshit. No one visits our manor, except for Voldemort when he needs hiding and Muggles when they're unfortunate enough to have been invited.

Don't get me wrong, our manor is somewhat okay...sometimes. My rooms are my home and sometimes I talk to the house elves. But it does get lonely....

I'm not complaining, though. I can do whatever I want, as long as it's considered 'dark' to my father.

Of course, there's one catch. On my 17^th birthday, I'm being handed over to Voldemort. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Draco glanced at the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher and decided the poor woman couldn't handle the truth, even if she did say she wanted them to write about their home lives. Why she wanted to know was a mystery to him.

Draco sighed and crumpled up his parchment, pulling out a new one and scribbling quickly,

"My home life is perfect. My dad works at the Ministry and my mom hosts parties. We get along great and have family nights once a week during the summer."

Draco turned his essay in and packed up his things, glancing briefly at the Golden Trio. Everyone thought he hated them because he was evil, because he worked for Voldemort, but that wasn't true. Draco hated them because they were free.

Freedom was something that Draco had always desired, something he had always craved, but lingered just out of reach. His father had rules and expectations that Draco had to meet. He had to act and speak a certain way.

Lucius expected him to want the Dark Mark, to marry a pretty rich girl of Voldemort's choosing, and have a Malfoy heir. But what his father didn't know is that Draco had been sneaking money out of the Malfoy vault into his own for months.

Draco knew there was no point in sneaking the money, he was not a Gryffindor, and he could not survive on his own. He'd never abandon his father, though the consequences were far less great than those if he were to stay.

Later that night, Draco sat in his abandoned common room, watching the dying embers and sipping a glass of pumpkin juice. His housemates had gone to bed an hour or so earlier, yawning and talking in soft whispers.

What everyone said was true, all of the Slytherins ended up evil. Still, Draco had a lingering feeling that maybe they would not be so evil if the other students had at least given them a chance. Maybe the other students could have saved them.

Draco chuckled to himself, laughing at his stupidity. It was a foolish hope; the other houses would never befriend them. There is too much prejudice at Hogwarts, generations of it. The moment a student was sorted, they were influenced by the lies of their elder housemates.

Draco sat the empty glass down on the table and stood up, staring sullenly down at it.

The people who said that the glass is either half-full or half-empty lied. The glass would never be half-empty or half-full for the Slytherins. It would always be just empty.