𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

heirloom lilac

"There are two ways to live a life:
Like nothing is a miracle,
and like everything is a miracle."

•

DRACO MALFOY BELIEVED he was wronged by life in many, many ways. First, he was born in a bigoted, prejudiced family who believed they were superior just because they had never mixed with muggleborns. He was raised with twisted morals, misguided at least till he was thirteen, made to believe he was superior and he held that power over all.

Second, he was used as a pawn in Voldemort's chess game where everyone was willing to sacrifice his life as an example. Voldemort didn't give a shit about debt. He was blatantly aware that Draco would have failed and he set him up anyway as a punishment for his participation in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

Third, when he escaped being said pawn of Voldemort, he was thrust into the Order to be a pawn for Dumbledore, a man who had defeated Grindelwald for fuck's sake. But Dumbledore used him too, he knew. Dumbledore didn't see him as a boy, but as an opportunity to gain something. And Draco was naive and sixteen, terrified of whatever was happening in his home, so he gave in to serve Dumbledore.

Then Dumbledore died. Despite Draco trying his best make some sense to the man in the Astronomy Tower, he had already decided to die. So, cue Severus Snape, and Dumbledore's body was hurling down the tower, dead and lifeless.

Fourth, he had to hide for a whole year when everyone thought he was dead. Actually hide, without anywhere to go to outside, stuck in a house with Potter and Co. He hated feeling weak, but as the Slytherin trait goes, self-preservation before all. So he hid, until it drove him insane.

Fifth, life truly fucked him up when he asked Skylar to marry him. Sure, he was slightly intoxicated, slightly high on the idea that Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were getting married, slightly delighted that he actually felt at home at the Burrow away from his parents. But he had meant every word, and if there was anyone he wanted to spend eternity with, it was Skylar. And then what happened? She got kidnapped.

And then the War happened, and he met her free five long months, and they kissed, and everything was good. Hogwarts was ready to fight, Draco was ready to fight, Slytherins we're ready to fight. And then his best friend died.

Draco's rage was natural. He broke a few too many goblets, punched his fist through a few too many windows, and hexed everyone just a little too often. The walls of the Malfoy Manor still smelled of blood and the horrifying screams of the victims he had to encounter when he was sixteen. The living room contained memories he didn't want to relive. The dining room was emptied of the High Chair where Voldemort used to sit, but still the air sizzled with his soft hissing voice. His bedroom still contained the echoes of his own silent whimpers when he cried himself to sleep every night. Draco's rage was justified.

When he walked, he stomped his feet a little too hard, when he talked, his voice was a little to loud, when he slept, his slept too lightly, wand gripped in his hand, ready for anything. And then came his nightmares—

Unlike Skylar's, his nightmares didn't revolve around Voldemort. His nightmares revolved around himself. He could never forget the times he'd look at someone else's reflection in the mirror after being under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, a measure he had taken to hide himself. He could never forget his scars that latched around his chest like the tentacles of the giant squid, choking him, reminding him everyday of everything that had happened to him. His nightmares showed him, staring across the battlements, across the huge foot of the giant, at Theodore Nott dropping dead, killed by his own father.