In the Shadows

In the Shadows

I've been tossing and turning all night. Nothing seems to be going right in my life. I'm a Malfoy, and with that name come certain responsibilities. I'm expected to be an aristocratic, sneering bastard that refuses help in any situation. I'm supposed to have enough pride and dignity to approach any difficulties with ease and grace. I'm a Slytherin, and must use my money and connections to my own benefit. I'm to keep my mouth shut and learn from my elders, while never slipping any of this supposedly esoteric knowledge to my peers. I must be immaculately groomed and beautiful; after all, if my charisma cannot get me what I want, then my physical beauty should be able to succeed.

But I don't want to be this way any more. What use is there to being a Malfoy? I have yet to make any friends. Oh, I most certainly have associates, for lack of a better word. Unless, of course, you consider that pig Parkinson and those two clods Goyle and Crabbe to be useful associates. To me, they are better described as necessary evils. Necessary to keep up my Malfoy appearances. Necessary to fuel my father's business connections. Necessary to drive me barmy from all of these pretences.

But why am I putting up pretences? Why can't I be a prideful, smarmy git? Why is it so hard for me to ridicule Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood? Where is my inherent Malfoyishness? And why can't I deal with this calmly? I can't sleep, I can barely function properly; hell, I don't remember to bloody eat sometimes!

But there's no reason to worry about this. Really. Father always said that I was destined to be a Death Eater. He also said that I would make him proud some day. Well, if he's so sure about it, it's bound be true. He's never lied to me before, and I trust him.

Of course, I don't trust him now as much as I did when I was, say, eleven. Seven years in this bloody school have changed my opinion on everything it seems. Oh, Father does tell the truth. But his truths always have a hidden layer, an alternate meaning that changes the reality of the truth. He is never straightforward with his answers or statements, as though he is urging me to think it out for myself. There is a reason why he was a Slytherin after all.

Well, if wanting the honest truth is considered a Gryffindor trait, then I'll risk that blemish to my reputation. I don't want to be toyed with any more. I've already come of age, which means that I'll be receiving the Mark once I graduate. Maybe that Mark will allow me the privilege of honesty. Maybe Father will trust me as implicitly as I trust him. And perhaps I can actually make him proud to be my father and fellow Death Eater.

But there lays the problem: I abhor killing. Oh, I know I'm Draco Malfoy. I know I'm supposed to be the killer and maimer of all things small and pitiful. I have made it my duty to bring out my dark side these past years in Hogwarts, and it would be an understatement to merely say that I've succeeded. I am currently the most reviled human being in this school according to every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Consequently, I am also the most revered and renowned human being amongst the Slytherins. But those are my appearances, my pretences.

If it were not for those bloody pretences, I would be a quiet, studious Slytherin student. Oh, I would not be a meek Hufflepuff; I still have a dark side, and that part of me would always seek mischief and independence. But I would not be as crude as I am now. I would not search my brain for any bloody insult every time I see Potty and his sidekicks. I would be a good student, perhaps better than I am already, with ambitious goals.

Well, it seems that those ambitions were already decided for me even before I was born.

I wonder what it would be like to defy Father. What would he do if I refused to take the Dark Mark? Oh, I know the default punishments, the ones that he has used on me before. He would definitely use the Cruciatus for long, extended periods. He would probably even try the Imperius to force me to hurt myself. Maybe he will kill someone I love, like he did with Carina, my nurse, when I refused to begin learning the dark arts. I was only seven years old at the time, and I still remember the pain of watching her torture, rape, and eventual murder.

Bloody hell, no seven-year-old should have to witness a rape. Especially when that child has no idea of what sex is in the first place; I don't think I will ever recover from that incident. But no, Father will think of something even worse than that. He has never been a man to repeat his actions. Hell, he does not even wear the same robes twice. For all of the male Malfoyishness that he tries to pull off, he is the most effeminate man I have ever known.

But his effeminacy has never prevented him from exacting pain on me, or the people I hold dear to me. Hence my reasons for no longer trusting him as blindly as I once did.

But I don't want to lay here like a total ass. I want to do something with my life. I want to take charge of it, to "create opportunities" as my dear ole Da says. Hell, I am a Slytherin after all. So I should be able to do something about this situation. But I have no idea where to start.

How do I defy Father and make him proud? Well, that seems completely impossible. He will probably disown me, or even kill me, if I do not take the Mark. And where would that leave me? Mother would not dare touch me if I were disowned. My associates in Slytherin would instantly turn on me, for they would assume that I am no longer their ally. Slytherins would consider me an enemy, and I would be untrustworthy to everyone else in this damn school, including Dumbledore. I can just imagine Potty or the Weasel accusing me of being a spy for the Dark Lord or Father.

No, I cannot be foolish enough to lose whatever allies I do have.

It seems that the best option for me is to wait. I hate it, but it is the safest choice. It is best to continue to act like the preening, overstuffed git that a Malfoy is supposed to be. Father will be satisfied, Slytherin will be pleased, and Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood will expect no less from me.

I wonder what Dumbledore would say if he knew what I was thinking right now. If he knew my reluctance to become a Death Eater, my disgust with the Malfoy legacy, my discontent with my life. Would he consider me suicidal for my apparent disregard for living? Would he see me as a potential recruit for his brainless, blind followers? Or would I be a threat because I'm an anomaly, a rare species of pureblood that should be eliminated as soon as possible?

I guess I shall never know. I should just close my eyes and sleep, forgetting all of this indecision and worrying. Because no one ever tries to see behind the lies and the façade that I have lived behind ever since I was eleven. And if I keep going like this, it will no longer be a façade. It will be fact.

Finite Incantatem