Temptation - Dramione

Chapter 3

Draco

The weight of the day's mission pressed heavily on my shoulders, an oppressive burden that I bore as I moved through the corridors of the manor. We were about to pay a visit to the Lovegoods, publicly showing our support for Harry Potter through the Quibbler, an eccentric newspaper written by a man who, if you ask me, was nothing short of a lunatic.

Our objective was to take Xenophillius' daughter, Luna, a familiar face from our Hogwarts days, a classmate destined to be ensnared in our machinations. I knew what I needed to do.

My face hardened as I emptied every thought and emotion that had taken place inside my mind. I pushed them as far away as I could, burying them deep in books which I shoved into the furthest library of my mind. I couldn't even remember a time when I hadn't used occlumency. It had become my refuge, a sanctuary from the tumultuous emotions that threatened to consume me. These days it felt as though it was the only thing I did: occlude, occlude, occlude. If I didn't, all of these emotions would come right back up, and I hated it. These emotions made me weak.

Suppressing the waves of guilt and doubt that surged within me was a relentless endeavor, a battle to remain stalwart in the face of my father's expectations. I reminded myself of the greater cause, the redemption I sought for my family's honor, but whispers of guilt still haunted me.

I convinced myself I was doing the right thing, all for a better world where we didn't have to hide, where we could show Muggles their rightful place.

Muggles were not our equals; we, as wizards, were unequivocally superior. That's what my father always taught me. I grew up hating Mudbloods, Half-bloods, and Blood Traitors—the very fabric of my existence woven with disdain.

The dichotomy between the man I aspired to be and the actions I was forced to commit gnawed at my conscience. My upbringing, ingrained with pureblood superiority, fueled the resentment I harbored for Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. Yet, the Mudblood was right. I despised Muggle-borns, but I didn't wish to see them die, especially not at my hand. 

I didn't have much of a choice unlike virtuous Saint Potter and his precious friends. I had a family that needed my help. I couldn't give up on my mother; she was the only one I had. I couldn't lose her. I won't.

Still, I couldn't escape the nagging question of whether there was more to my destiny than following the Dark Lord's orders.

As I lay in bed, moonlight filtering through the window, I traced the frost patterns on the glass with my gaze. The snowfall outside brought me back to a simpler time, a cherished memory of building snow wizards with my mother and coming home to drink hot chocolate with my father.

 I smiled bitterly at the memory. Father was no longer the same. He had become a spiteful, selfish man. I felt as though my youth was taken away from me, as if I had grown up too fast.

I watched as snowflakes fell down, covering the garden in white snow. The snow's purity belied the darkness that had engulfed my family, a transformation that had turned my father into a shadow of his former self. Mother stayed the same, more or less. She tried to keep a brave face for me, but I could see the dismay, the despair behind her blue eyes.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and my father's voice cut through the stillness. "It's time, son. They're waiting for you downstairs." His tone was cold, laden with a stern reminder of my duty.