Tabula Rasa: I Am Sorrow

"Are you flesh...or are you spirit?"

"...I am sorrow."

~ Phillipe and Isabeau, "Ladyhawke"

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I am alone again. I pray you are not.

For no one is left for me to cling to. I have destroyed my only sanctuary. I am left alone with nothing but my hatred once more. Thus it has consumed me; leaving me little less than a broken, empty husk, which will soon be dissolved and carried away on the impassive wind.

Love has lessened me as the more I abused it. It has stripped away all common sense and left me with heartache and an unreasonable bitterness. It has shattered me. Shattered the haven I once held in you. With it I tore down what modest defenses I had, succumbing me to the open void that is despair. It is dark here, and chilling to the bone, seeping down into my very marrow. The nothingness has broken me, torn me asunder. Despondency has taken my hand and wrapped it about the shafts that guide the platform down into the very depths of Hell. My other hand reaches through the void, clutching at something that once was beautiful, but now is blackened and charred and full of nothing. I have done this. This feeling of responsibility is a new creature to me, while the deadened, lackluster feeling of grief is not. I have before mourned the passing of things beautiful, as I shall again. But this! The guilt is too much for my heart to bear...I have done this deed...I, with my selfish, wanton `needs,´ my thirst for the unattainable. The act alone is unforgivable. And the consequences! I have reaped what I have sown, and am bowing down beneath the weight of its repercussions.

I alone shall bear this load, till such a time is seen as fit to relieve it from my heart and shoulders. For it surely is mine alone to bear; or should have been, for you, the object of my affections, have surely felt the blows from my misguided attention. Thus my haven has crumbled like the city of Atlantis, and fallen into the oceans of tears, all for the foolishness of human need. I wish for you happiness as something else, sanctuary, for I am despair,

and loneliness,

and regret.

I am sorrow. And I am alone. As I pray you never be.

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The end of the beginning...and the beginning of everything else.

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Chapter One - First Instinct

"What do I do to ignore them behind me?

Do I follow my instincts blindly?

Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams,

and give into sad thoughts that are maddening?"

The wind stung, lashing out at his face as an infuriated lover might. Tucking his scarf more securely about his neck, the tall man made his way briskly down the sidewalk, ignoring the throbbing, pulsing city that rushed all around him. Ordinary people, with indifferent faces and white-knuckled hands that clenched at briefcases, marching smartly along their way like good little paper pushers, swarmed about him. A crowd that knew nothing of the world but stock prices and subhuman employers, with minimal wage jobs to pay for the wife and kids, plus that mistress you call on for the weekends. How little they saw of the sun and sincere smiles. He continued to walk, leaning into the wind, not really caring.

The man pressed on, nearing his destination in the business district of London. He made his way towards a set of sprawling stone steps at the corner of Steppins and Volgrass streets...the building itself was settled loosely between two other large, officious looking buildings of glass and steel; but as intimidating as the two seemed, the middle one towered above both imperiously, a sparse but classy looking structure, made of the same materials as those around it. The figure strode up the stone steps with an odd defiance present in his gait, taking long impatient strides to reach the double glass doors; his mood became even more apparent when he positively yanked them open, and stomped into the foyer.

Inside, there was a large, sprawling ebony wood desk set off to one side of the room, and at the very back was a grand, sweeping staircase that led to the upper levels, with several doors on the ground floor flanking it on either side. The rest of the room was spacious, and tastefully decorated in cool, mute colors. He gave it all a cursory glance before his gaze landed once again on the desk, and the woman behind it. From behind the large desk, an older woman who had been typing glanced up at him over her wire-rimmed glasses. Blinking innocuously at him, she smiled prettily and began to stand up to greet him. She didn´t get too far out of her chair, however; the man made his way straight to her, all the while scowling. She sat back down again, feeling not just a little uneasy as he towered above her so menacingly. She hadn´t the nerve to try to stand again, and settled for keeping her smile on and welcoming him warmly - the boss didn´t keep her around for just her filing proficiency; she prided herself on her diplomacy and people skills. "Good afternoon sir, might I ask you to state your business?"

"Duvall," he said tersely, a slight edge of haughtiness to his voice. He had an unnerving stare, glowering at her as if she wasn´t worth his time. She pursed her lips, and turned silently to check her employer´s scheduled appointments for the day, relieved to have to not look at the man anymore, no matter how pleasing he was to the eye - and he was, with flaxen hair that was swept back neatly, fair skin, elegant, patrician features, and cool, pale eyes that were presently narrowed at her, snapping with impatience and - she thought uncomfortably - superiority. Old money...she thought to herself, and sighed softly. She had to deal with his type almost every day, and it never got any less exasperating.

"Name, please?" she requested as she typed, not daring to look at him again and be on the receiving end of that haughty glare. She heard him make an impatient noise.

"Just tell him his four o´clock is here," he ordered, voice even and cultured. Undeniably upper class. The secretary sighed again, this time more audibly, momentarily forgetting her discomfort; she was quickly losing her patience with the blonde youth. Young people these days, no sense of protocol whatsoever...most unhelpful, he is. She looked back up at him.

"I cannot be bothered with anonymous callers; I will need your name if you intend to see him." She spoke crisply, trying not to let her irritation show through. A muscle jumped in the man´s cheek; he was gritting his teeth now. For several moments, neither one spoke, both eyeing the other guardedly. Finally, the man´s face relaxed into a remote expression, save for a single brow arching ever so slightly, evidence of his ever-present arrogance.

"Malfoy," he drawled, slowly and succinctly. "Now...if I may speak with your employer? I did not come here for an argument, or to waste my time bickering with a common blue collar. If I had wished to do so, I would have headed down to the coast; plenty of drudgers there to spend time harassing, don´t you agree?" A tilt of the head; a glimmer of a not-so-nice smile.

The woman felt herself tense. Uppity, aren´t we? It had been a long while since she´d come across this kind of contempt for the working class. She could tell, from the carefully styled hair, the cut of his clothes, and even the shine of his shoes, that this man was one who considered himself above the `plebeian class;´ it went beyond mere disdain and into outright disgust. As if he couldn´t even be bothered with the tediousness of patronization. She drew in her breath sharply through her nose, and, refusing to rise to his bait, wordlessly stabbed at the intercom button.

The speaker crackled to life. "Yes, Patricia?" a mellow voice spoke.

"Mr. Duvall, there is a...Mr. Malfoy to see you." She loathed adding the title; this man was certainly no gentleman. "He says he´s your four o´clock appointment. Shall I send him on up?" Maybe he´ll get lost, she thought hopefully. It would certainly serve him right.

"No, no...we´d have to reschedule the meeting; he´d be lost for hours in this labyrinth. Just a moment. Mr. Redfern? Could you go downstairs and show Mr. Malfoy the way to the office?" There seemed to be another person with him. Patricia had to bite back a small, vindictive smile. Cougar. If Mr. let-me-wipe-my oxfords-on-you-so-hold-still-won´t-you Malfoy conducted himself in the same manner around Redfern as he did with her, he´d certainly be in for an unpleasant surprise. Unlike her, Mr. Redfern did not have any restrictions on how to deal with people. And he lacked three very important things: tact, gentleness, and patience. Not the most promising combination. It would certainly put Malfoy in a foul temper; Mr. Duvall´s right hand man had that effect on people. She might have to warn Mr. Duvall after they left the room; poor man, he didn´t deserve such an ill-mannered person as Malfoy, this close to closing time.

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On the other side of the desk, Malfoy stood, his lean frame tense. He had to school himself into not fidgeting; he wasn´t going to give this secretary the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. So he stayed still, hands hanging loose down at his sides, no emotion evident on his face. Inside, however, he was seething. Good God, the incompetence of these Muggles! Could she have not just put me through a scanner and sent me on up? Isn´t it obvious I´m here on business? He gritted his teeth in silence. Even the slightest of hang-ups these days never ceased to exasperate him, and overreacting seemed to have become a rapidly growing bad habit of his. The past...had not been kind to him, in that aspect of his life. Even for purebloods...especially for a Malfoy...Nothing ever seems to go my way...

As soon as he thought so, however, he felt disgusted with himself. Throwing a tiff over such a mundane, minute impediment was on the same level as chopping off your hand after discovering a hangnail had made your fingernails uneven. He turned away from the desk and the woman, trying to reign in his emotions before he let them show. Softly taking a steady, deep breath, he leveled himself out and turned back casually, as if nothing had ever been wrong. He tried to set his face into a more pleasant expression; it felt more like he was wincing. Damn it...why does it always have to be this way? Why do I still do this? It isn´t like I have a reason to...not anymore...human is human. And you´re acting more like a beast. So smile, dammit!

But it was as if he had forgotten how to. It wasn´t...in his nature. He looked away again, facing the glass doors that led to outside and the rest of the world. Now he just felt ashamed. Ashamed of his inbred attitude towards society, and, right now, of the face that he had shown the poor woman. He had been working for a long time to curb his tongue, and speak softly, but...some habits were simply too difficult to overpower. Time; time was all he needed. And with no job, hardly enough money to pay the rent on his flat - he had already cleaned out his Gringotts vault years ago - and a strange job offer that was sure to fall through...it certainly looked as if he was going to be getting a plethora of that time in the very near future. So suck it up, already.

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As he was silently chastising himself, the secretary got the chance to study him better. His posture had relaxed, and he had shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He didn´t slouch, however; Patricia didn´t think a person like that knew how to. People like that...they don´t worry, like normal people. The weight of the world isn´t on their shoulders, holding them down...his face, she now noticed, had softened a bit. He was standing so that she could only see his profile, but she saw that the corner of his mouth wasn´t so tight anymore, and the arrogance that had made his eyes cruel and narrow had been cast off, leaving him looking strangely younger, and gentler. He almost looked approachable. Almost. There was an air about him that seemed to ward people off, and say `don´t touch me...don´t even look at me.´ Her brow furrowed. He wasn´t paying any attention to her anymore, and was gazing out through the glass at the entrance of the building, out at the people passing by, oblivious. When had this happened? Sniping at her one moment, and withdrawn the next. She pursed her lips again, feeling old. Honestly...the youth these days...

But she suddenly felt an unexpected rush of sympathy for the young-old boy standing before her. Was it his parents who taught him this attitude? He must have had an unpleasant childhood, to become so dulled towards the world...

"Oi, Pat!"

The voice startled both of them. Patricia blinked, and gave the other young man who had just appeared at the top of the stairs a stern look. "Pat-ricia." She enunciated. Sighing in defeat, she shook her head at Duvall´s assistant. "Mr. Redfern...this is Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Redfern. He´ll be showing you the way to Mr. Duvall´s office. Now, if you´ll excuse me, I have paperwork to finish up. Good day. And Cougar..." she addressed the man--who was smirking all over the place, curse him--again, sighing. "Be nice." The man up on the landing gave her his trademark lazy grin, not looking at all `nice.´ He put a hand to his heart in mock indignation.

"Pat, please. I´m insulted." A pause, then, "You should know by now to save your breath!" With that, he jerked his head at Malfoy, clearly impatient to get going. "This way...and hurry up; Mr. Duvall´s got more important stuff to take care of than how many shares of your company stock he should be buying," he drawled. Malfoy, who had been listening in silence, and had nodded at the man when they´d been introduced, tensed ever so slightly. Do I look that much like a stockbroker? He thought irritably, and, adjusting the Armani jacket across his shoulders more comfortably, started hurrying up the stairway, eager to get this over with.

"Because I can´t hold on when I´m stretched so thin;

I make the right move but I´m lost within.

I put on my daily façade, but then

I just end up getting hurt again..."