Duty

I came into another world
And found myself fair
changed.
Believing things that can't be believed,
Seeing that
which no one has seen,
Living and breathing within a
dream--
Perhaps I am deranged.

Fifteen year-old Draco Malfoy dragged himself into the Great Hall for breakfast, lagging behind Crabbe and Goyle. They didn't notice that he was behind, each hurrying to get to the food, no other thought on their minds.

Borne on the back of a
great blue dragon
Into a vortex of light.
Carried to a world
that's new,
Where my friends are very few;
They say there's
something I must do--
I have to learn to fight.

Draco remembered his Christmas vacation. Father had made him duel, hex, block hexes, curse, block curses, and take judo. Running up and down the balcony, sitting outside in the cold snow with nothing on but his summer robes. Draco suspected that Father would have made him sit in nothing but his boxers [A/N: Mmm, we'd all like to see that] had Mother not intervened. All part of his Dark training, Father said. Draco thought it useless. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be a Death Eater. Lord Voldemort didn't seem to be exactly the best guy to be working for.

The
responsibility for their freedom--
All this they place on
me.
Now I must use my strength and will,
And swallow duty like a
bitter pill;
They day will come, but not until
I've become what
I must be.

The word "duty" echoed through his mind. Malfoy family honor, Mother said. Dark wizarding pride, Father said. Upper class traditions, they'd said in unison. Obey your parents, a portrait had hissed at him as he walked down to breakfast. Or so he thought.

These thoughts, these words. Were the Slytherin portraits really talking? Or was it just his mind? Was Draco going insane?

So I think deep, depressing thoughts
As I
walk down the hall.
Nothing is going according to plan,
And it's
all about to hit the fan--

He had to keep going, no matter what. Even if he was insane. Pride. Honor. Duty. All these he had to uphold, and carry this burden by himself.

For there was no one else to carry it for him.

To sneer at Mudbloods and Muggles, even if his heart was smarting while he said his insults and he cried out in pain inside, to be hurting ones he loved. To make fun of Potter, and all good wizards, including Albus Dumbledore, even if he secretly admired them. To obey his parents, even if he thought they were wrong, even if they told him to take a knife to his throat, he would do it.

He had to carry his burden. But as he grew older, the burden grew and grew. What would happen when he finally collapsed? He wouldn't be much use to his parents if he was in St. Mungo's with the- Draco sneered -Longbottoms.

But there was nothing else to do.

Draco felt trapped. He, with all his riches and power, couldn't do anything that he wanted to do.

When he was younger his father used to buy him things to make him happy. Now that he was older, Father simply told him, "I have a great future planned for you, Draco."

Draco shuddered. He wanted to plan his own future, not have his father doing it for him. But there was nothing he could do.

He spotted Potter across the Hall. Duty, the word echoed throughout his mind. He sighed, got up with Crabbe and Goyle trailing, each with toast stuffed in their mouths.

"Hello, Potty," he sneered.

But still, I will do all I can
To
prevent the dragons' fall.