Losing A Life

Losing A Life

Chapter 1

I woke up, wishing I hadn't.

There was something overriding and tempting this year to that thought. As a Malfoy, suicide wasn't so unheard of. More than a few ancestors had been caught doing things society thought they shouldn't and several of them had gone on to do something about it before anyone else could.

Back then though there had been a strong line of Malfoys just itching to become the heir, so it didn't rightly matter if one popped off. It was just thought of as another ghost in the manor to frighten away silly children or those stupid enough to try to thieve from them.

Instead I washed and dressed myself, glad that I met no one else at the early hour of the morning.

I walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast, hungry beyond belief once more.

I'm sure my eyes must have had a mad gleam to them as I sat down on the bench and snatched a pair of prongs to serve myself bacon first.

Just as I lifted my proudly stacked bacon sandwich to my mouth, I saw her walk in. Her auburn hair swung around her shoulders as she nearly strutted towards her own table. She was surrounded by two other Gryffindors from her year. I didn't care about them enough to know their names.

It was the Virgin, the cruel and ironic Slytherin nickname designed for her, Virginia Weasley.

My lips curved upwards in a snarl and I placed my food back down. It could wait. I watched her, showing off her new robes so happily. I hated her like I hated her whole family. Her father had been one of those I'd spent the summer with, he'd been in charge of a lot of the operation to clear out the manor. He'd got a promotion for it of course, which was why dear Ginny could afford new robes for once in her life. Her father had practically stolen our wealth, for the benefit of his own happy little line of muggle-loving gits and her.

I turned my face down and began to eat my breakfast solemnly. There was another reason I hated her. It was partly because it was so easy to and for the rest because I knew I couldn't forever despise her in the same way as her brothers. The first time I'd seen her I'd found myself vaguely dissapointed our two families were at odds. If not for their muggle-loving tendencies and the long-running feud between fathers, then it would have been possible that the Weasleys could have been a respectable pureblood family, despite their lack of wealth.

Why had I wanted that? Because the thought of having to marry her was more pleasing than of that brat Parkinson. I knew from a young age I would marry whoever my father chose as appropriate and when I met her I found Pansy ugly and awful in every clingy and minute detail that she bothered to explain to me about herself.

There was always the hint of rebellion in that I could even hate 'Ginny' less than her brothers, that I would let her off even if I would never be polite and courteous - which I, as Draco Malfoy will never be to anyone, let alone her as a Weasley.

Of course not hating her enough made me hate myself sometimes, in turn making up by making me hate her once again. It was a strange cycle with which I found the hate within to fuel a feud I knew nothing of. It was our father who started it, or perhaps theirs before - either way, both sides held it up and I did not intend to stop it.

Sometimes she seemed to be content to ignore my insults, as if she was trying delicately to give it up, but then I'd make sure her anger got the better of her because we couldn't have a truce however one-sided it was. A snide remark and her least favourite nickname always did it. She'd storm off hating me, my life, my whole family, and I'd leave satisfied at having done something right.

I'd been lost in my thoughts too long now and found myself beginning to feel crowded by my housemates stares along the table. So I got up proudly, chin held high as I was taught and made my way to first lesson, early once more.

~

First lesson reminded me why I didn't usually look forward to school. I sat bored out of my skull at History of Magic, wishing my father had been imprisoned before he'd had the chance to choose all my subjects.

It was something I hope could be remedied soon enough, in two days he'd get the kiss and be blissfully unaware of anything else I'd achieve in life, or not, as it seemed likely.

I got up mutely on my own and lugged my books down towards the dungeons, to the potions lab.

Potions was one subject I didn't mind being in this year, the only unfortunate thing about it was my lab partner - Hermione Granger. Little Miss Perfect who always did better than me. Trying to make the potion with her was a battle for control, and she always knew better. I was putting in the dungbeetle juices when Snape shouted out at me angrily.

"Malfoy!"

I had been doing nothing wrong, up until that point where his booming voice made me lose my grip on the vial. I gulped as I watched the whole vial sink to the bottom of the cauldron.

"Ten points from Slytherin for carelessness."

I wasn't used to this and wondered why Snape was doing it. Did he want Slytherins to hate me more than they already did. I was sure it wasn't possible - I already shamed them as much as possible. After all, my father had been caught, that was the greatest shame on the family. Slytherins are meant to be devious and cunning, qualities that prelude NOT getting caught.

Granger scowled at me; she didn't seem to care that Snape had caused my accident. She started to prepare a second lot of ingredients in another cauldron. I basically stood and

watched her brew the potion, which Snape noticed and took up eagerly.

"Mister Malfoy, there is a reason why a potions practical is called that. See me after the lesson."

I resigned to a huff and sat down at the desk whilst Granger carried on regardless, mixing them all perfectly.

I was even sure she earned a smile from Sevvie at the end, which made me wonder if it was just the fact she didn't complain about his attempted humilitaion of me.

I sat at the desk patiently as all the others filed out. Snape watched me, his black eyes digging into my flesh creepily. I'd never been subjected to that intense gaze of his before and didn't know what had changed that this year unless it was the issue of my father.

As I found out it was, just not how I'd expected it to be.

"Follow me," he said as he walked stiffly to his office. I had no choice not to, though I'm sure if I'd known what it was for I would have fled that instant.

I stumbled behind, into the darkened room. It smelled worse than when I had last been here. I guessed the smells were seasonal, a mixture of all the current vegetation and other delights available for potions this month. Other than that it was musty, like some of the manor's rooms that had not been traversed in decades.

I coughed once, sternly to show my disapproval of the bad manners he was showing. I wasn't going to make this easy for him; I despised being told off for no good reason by the one teacher who was meant to be, at the very least, not against me.

He ignored me except to motion towards a hard backed chair. He himself sat back in a reasonably comfy padded seat. Despite this he looked pointedly awkward.

I should have known something was deadly wrong with the situation then. Severus Snape had never looked awkward in his life as i knew him.

His eyes shied away from my own and he stuttered, mumbling too, seeming to find the words difficult to say.

He finally looked directly at me ominously and asked, "Do you have any idea why you are here?"

I glared at him and gave him my best guess as confidently as I could. I wasn't going to let him know I didn't really know. "It's about my father."

Snape paled instantly and shook in nervousness at what I'd said. I had no idea why, but clearly he thought I knew why.

"Has she told you?"

"She?" I asked incredulously.

"Your mother . . . Narcissa."

I wasn't sure exactly what I heard but there was a definite change in tone when he said my mother's name. I couldn't tell what emotion he imbued it with but I knew this conversation would soon reveal whatever Snape's little secret was.

Snape said no more for a minute. Instead he quietly studied me, eyes darting across my features again and again looking for some sign I was oblivious to. I made my face still and blank, a picture of a serene bitterness that every Malfoy man perfected. A poker face I'd heard it called by a few muggle students. As much as I hated muggles I found I quite liked that term for it.

Snape didn't find anything from me, didn't know what it was he'd wanted. Perhaps that's why he felt the need to say something more, to tease it out of me.

"What do you know of your family, Draco?"

I watched Snape's face for a moment before answering impassively.

"I am the last Malfoy."

I was shocked to hear him chuckle darkly at this statement. I stared at him intently, waiting until his small amount of crazed amusement wore off.

"So that's what you think." It was not a question but my head rattled with possible answers, retorts to his own less entertaining statement.

My face must have been seething with a barely contained anger when he appeared to divulge more to what he meant.

"I am not insulting your family Draco. You see you are most definitely not the last Malfoy. You are not a Malfoy at all I might regret to say. Though your 'father' has always believed so; he never had any reason to doubt it."

I didn't have a clue of what to say to that. I wasn't thinking about answers, I only knew it was cruel and unusual joke for my head of house to play.

"What do you mean?" I managed to get out of my mouth

"Lucius is not your father. Narcissa is, however, your mother. Lucius never questioned the fact that you were his, you look the part enough and play along to him after all. Just the way you were brought up as a Malfoy was enough to make you one. Though you are not." When I said nothing he continued on, the words spilling out of his cold mouth dispassionately as though he was giving a lecture. "Your mother thought it best to tell you now that Lucius is in Azkaban. Previously it would have been far too dangerous for her to even attempt to tell you."

I knew what he implied. If it was true and my father had found out then my mother might have had a trip to the dungeons or an altogether more permanent 'trip' for her treachery. I didn't like to think what would have become of myself if my father had known whilst alive and sane. There sprung up the problem; the name, phrase of 'my father' wasn't my father. I wasn't Draco Malfoy, if I chose to believe what Snape said.

"So who is my father then?" I spoke as if demanding an answer, as I always had done when faced with an obstacle. Nothing was too big for me to tackle, even if I wasn't truly a Malfoy (something I'd yet to accept but wished to hear out if only to refute).

Snape's lips pursed shrewdly and he spoke in less than a whisper, with a voice of sadness that denied it as a lie.

"I am your father."