The Truth About Draco {Edits Coming Soon}

Part One: Nothing to Lose

    The cool October air bit at the exposed skin on Draco's face as he stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The moon was barely recognizable behind the thick, heavy clouds that continually churned about in the sky. A blanket of mist enveloped the trees, intensifying the eerie ambiance of the forest. Compared to the newly found evil that now existed in the world however, Draco found the woods to be much less menacing than they had 6 years ago.

    With his back against a tree, he slid down to the damp ground. His muscles ached from the countless nights of terror-ridden nightmares and his eyes were bloodshot from the other countless nights staying awake to avoid them. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair letting out a shaky sigh in return. The school year had been going for close to a month now and Dumbledore had been dead for many more than that. So why then was he feeling so defeated, terrified, useless, alone? A lump was forming in his throat as he thought about this. Why was he acting like this? He hated Dumbledore and Harry Potter alike. Now Dumbledore was dead and Harry was the only one who stood in the way of the Dark Lord's success.

    And that, he realized, was exactly what made him so terrified.

    Who was he kidding? He didn't hate Dumbledore...or even Harry Potter for that matter. And he didn't want Voldemort to win, bringing the world to a wicked state of misery and torment—how could he? All he wanted was to stop feeling so much pain and anguish inside of him all the time. Why had he wanted so badly to join this unforgivable darkness that seems to swallow him whole? He wasn't his father and he hated the fact that he had ever wanted to be like his father. His father, the man who cared for the Dark Lord more than his own son; even his own wife. His father, the man who would find any excuse to curse Draco at his heart's content. His father, the coward who sold his soul to Lord Voldemort himself.

    A single tear streamed down Draco's cold, pale face. Why was he crying and feeling sorry for himself? He had no right. He had brought all of this upon himself! He had chosen to receive the Dark Mark, becoming a Death Eater and he had chosen to devote himself to honor every whim of the Dark Lord.

    Didn't he?

    Did he really choose? Had he really had a say of his own in the matter? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn't think of one time, in which he had ever told any Death Eater that he wanted to be one of them. He couldn't recall any moment where he had been asked for his own opinion on, well, anything that had to do with his life up to that point. He had never wanted this!

    The tears were falling more steadily now and Draco was long since passed the point of controlling them. His tears were hot and they burned his icy skin as they rolled down his face. He never thought the day would come when he would break down and cry, alone in the forest. What would his father say? Surly Lucius would take out his wand to torture his son and tell him that he had been raised strong and independent, not weak and unsteady like his actions were now showing. Surly he would say that Draco was being a disgrace to the Malfoy name. But Draco knew very well that his father didn't need any help ruining the family name. Lucius did a pretty bang up job on his own.

    It felt better to pin the blame for his pain on someone else for a change, and Draco knew deep within him that it was primarily his father's fault, but he couldn't help coming back to the fact that it was he who wasn't strong enough to stand up for himself, in the end. He was the one who had let it happen, and now he was in far too deep to just walk away like he did with everything else in his life. Every potential relationship he could have had was single handedly destroyed because he couldn't stop walking away, but now he was trapped; physically, mentally, emotionally, and entirely trapped.