The Portrait Chronicles

Hey! It's me again! Mairwen. You remember me? The amazing Hogwarts matchmaker! It's been a few days, but I'm sure you want to hear another darling little story. I think I shall tell you Neville's story.

As I said, my matches always work out. Well, except for this one time. No, I won't tell you about it. Why not, you say? I'm telling you Neville's story right now. No, I'm not trying to keep the other story from you. Well, it's a bit sad. Depressing, really. It's much too nice a day for that. So I won't tell you about it.

All right! Fine, if you insist. Don't say I didn't warn you.

It all started one day, when Professor McGonagall was reprimanding a seventh year student. I was hidden behind one of the picture frames, as McGonagall doesn't really like me.

"Do you understand, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall said sternly. "If you curse Harry Potter one more time, I'll have to suspend you."

"I understand, ma'am," Draco replied, with a cold note in his voice. That boy grated on my nerves. He was so arrogant! Not to mention extremely bigoted, and the way he treated that poor Hermione Granger . . . But I don't want to bias you against him. He wasn't all that he seemed, as you will soon find out.

I had thought about Draco Malfoy, of course. Evil people intrigue me. I was playing around with the idea of setting him up with Pansy Parkinson. The two of them really deserved each other. With that idea in mind, I followed him as he exited Professor McGonagall's office.

"Hey, Malfoy!" I called to him, as he strode quickly down the corridor. "Wait up!"

He turned around, but didn't see me. Of course. I'm used to this, being a portrait and all. No one but Ginny Weasley ever saw me at first glance. I rolled my eyes.

"Up here, Malfoy," I said.

His eyes flicked towards me, and an incredible sneer appeared on his face. No one can sneer like Malfoy, I always say. Yes, I do always say that.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Mairwen," I said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"To talk to you," I answered.

"About what?"

"Pansy," I said. "Do you fancy her?"

To my surprise, Draco let out a groan. "Why does everyone think I fancy her?" he said, with an attitude of long-suffering.

"You did take her to the Yule Ball," I pointed out.

"A decision that I continue to regret to this day," he said.

Dang it, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn't want to be set up with Pansy. As much as the two Slytherins deserved each other, I just couldn't set up anyone that didn't truly want to be set up.

"You don't fancy her?" I asked. Just to make sure.

"Merlin's beard! No, I don't fancy her!" He was practically shouting. "Pansy Parkinson and I will never have anything together. Not a fling, not a romance, and not anything else!"

"Fine, Malfoy, fine," I said soothingly. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"My father," he said dully. Oh, goody. This was going to be one of those dramatic unloading of feelings. I love those. Or, at least, I used to. Before Draco Malfoy changed my entire perspective.

"He wants me to join the Death Eaters," Draco said.

"And you don't want to?" I hazarded, and I admit that it was a tad incredulously. I had always thought that Malfoy would jump at the chance to become even more evil.

"Of course not," he said, clearly offended by my tone. "Do I look stupid to you? I don't want to kill anyone. Except for Potter, anyway," he amended.

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong, that's why!" he declared.

"No need to get offended, Malfoy," I said. "I just thought that . . ."

"Of course you did," he spat. "I know what everyone thinks. They think that Draco Malfoy is so evil. Draco Malfoy probably sacrifices small, defenseless animals and rapes young virgins for fun."

I blushed. I didn't think all of that, specifically, but I did think that he was evil.

"It's just, I grew up being taught that I was better than everyone else," Draco explained. "That I was special. Mudbloods and Muggle lovers were inferior to me. And it still shows!" he added. "Mudblood. A stupid term my father uses. I heard him use it when I was a child; therefore, I copied him the first chance I got. It's a bit of a habit, now."

His tone was regretful. For the first time in my life, I pitied Malfoy.

"And then, when I went to school, I pranced around like I was better than everyone. Because that's what my parents told me. 'Draco,' they'd say, 'you're special. Live up to your heritage, boy.'" Draco laughed bitterly.

"By the time I realized that I was wrong, it was too late. I was everyone's least favorite person, and they all adored Saint Potter." He spat the word "Potter" like a curse.

"I was so jealous," he confessed. "I wished that everyone would look at me like that. Like I was special. The only person that did was my father. I looked up to him so much, and I was desperate for his approval."

He smiled sardonically. "But he was never satisfied. He always harped on about how Potter kept beating me in Quidditch. It just made me hate Potter even more. It was his fault that my father didn't love me, because he kept on beating me at everything."

"Instead of blaming Harry," I advised, "you should just try to be better."

"An easy thing for you to say!" he retorted. "You've never been faced with that choice. You don't know the number of times I've wished that I could just sit down at Potter's table in the library and say, 'Hey, mate. Good game yesterday!' And then I think of what my father would say. I do walk up to Potter's table, but only to spit out an insult. My father would be proud, I think. But he never is."

Draco laughed bitterly again. "My father would only be proud if I slit Potter's throat. I think about it sometimes, too. How easy it would be to grab a knife and just end his life. And then I think, what kind of monster would do something like that?"

Tears were in his eyes now. "Is that what I am? A monster? But I know it is. My father molded me from day one to be just like him, and I've not let him down. When I finally started thinking for myself, it was only to realize how hopeless it would be to fight my destiny. Everyone already hates me - they'd just suspect me of some trickery or another if I confessed that I had grown some morals. And then I'd lose the friends that I already have. Sure, the Slytherins aren't much, but they're all I've got." He paused. "So I play pretend, and wear my mask, day in and day out. But I can't do that any more, because now I have to join the Death Eaters."

"You don't have to," I said softly.

"Yes, I do," he disagreed. "It's the thing to do - it's what everyone expects of me. Why let them down?"

"Because you're better than that," I said.

"I just confessed to a secret desire to slit Potter's throat, and you think I'm better than that?"

"Yes," I answered. "You are better than that, Malfoy. You have to do what you want, not what everyone wants you to do. It's your life."

"Who cares what I want?" he asked bitterly. "All I am to everyone is someone to hate. There's Voldemort, who's really evil, and Malfoy, who's slightly less evil, but only because he's still young and hasn't managed to look quite as creepy."

I didn't bother to deny this statement, because I knew that it was true. That's exactly how everyone perceived him, myself included. Or, I used to think of him like that.

"You can change, Malfoy," I said. "There's nothing stopping you."

"Except for my father," he corrected.

"Your father can't dictate your every move," I said vehemently. "Join up with Dumbledore!"

"Oh yeah, and they'll all welcome me with open arms," he said sardonically.

"You could convince them, Malfoy," I said.

"What's with the whole 'Malfoy' thing, anyway?" He raised his eyebrows. "Too good to call me Draco?"

"Draco, I didn't mean . . ."

"No, I understand," he said suddenly. "I'm just Malfoy."

"No, Draco . . .

"Don't worry about it, Mairwen," he said. "I've got to go."

"No, Draco, don't leave," I pleaded.

"I have to go," he insisted.

I saw it. I saw the mask slip back into place. Draco got up and left without another word. He slipped back into the role everyone needed him to play. The role of someone that everyone loved to hate. That's what Harry Potter needed. An enemy. Draco was less than happy to play the part, but he did so convincingly. So convincingly that I wondered if the boy who'd told me he'd "grown some morals" was nothing but a dream.

And then the attack came.

It was horrible, the Death Eaters swarming Hogwarts. I saw Lucius Malfoy, and wanted to spit at him for all that he'd done to his son. But I could only watch as the horrifying scene unfolded.

Draco, of course, fought with the Death Eaters and the other Slytherins. He personally handicapped three Gryffindors, seven Ravenclaws, and five Hufflepuffs. I noticed that he didn't aim to kill.

I watched in horror as he fought, willing him to change his mind. To fight for what he knew was right. But he did not.

He played the role that was written for him, up until the very end. When he finally cast off the mask, it was too late.

I saw Lucius sneak down the hall towards Harry Potter at the same moment Draco did. I despaired, for I knew that the last person who Draco would ever curse was his father. But Draco defied even my expectations.

Lucius raised his wand, pointing it at Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The voice did not belong to Lucius. It was Draco, standing tall, his wand pointed at his own father, defiance in every cell of his being. His father crumpled to the ground.

Draco did not fight any more. He crawled over to his father amidst the confusion, and gathered the man up into his arms. I saw tears running down his cheeks, and my heart went out to Draco. It is a horrible thing to kill someone, even more horrible if you admire the person.

After that day, Draco burned his mask. He married a Ravenclaw girl named Lisa Turpin. They lived in Malfoy Manor, and had little Malfoy babies. To the best of my knowledge, Harry never knew that Draco saved his life.

Some stories end happily ever after. Others do not.

Draco never had many friends, although he had hordes of minions. He never had a grand passion, although he genuinely cared for his wife. His children weren't devoted to him, but they gave him grudging respect.

He lived semi-happily ever after.

*

Come, child. Not every story is happy and fun. Welcome to the real world. But don't despair! I'll tell you the story of Malfoy's oldest daughter next time. Maybe it will cheer you up.

Astronomy, now, eh? Tell Sinistra I said hi. Ask her if she remembers . . . oh, never mind. That is absolutely none of your business. See you later!