Misery and Grief

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry this took so long. There is so much going on right now it's not even funny.

First I wrote this like three times, each of which I forgot to continue in first person. I'd like to say that this is not verbatum what he told Harry, obviously, he actually had told him pretty much what the first chapter is. This is just a necessary insight to the situations.

Second of all, I have been getting ready for Christmas, as should be obvious. I'm still behind.

Third of all, I got a new puppy! His name is Walter Stanly Mellin (Walter Mellin, think about it...) and he is a black and white boxer/pitbull mix. He's 8 weeks old and I just picked him up today (which will no longer be today by the time I upload this as I am out of town). He is currently sleeping in my hoodie on my lap and I look like a really bumpy pregnant person. I have been getting my house puppy proofed and such.

Lastly, I think, is my father is coming to town. His plane should be touching down any minute. This will be the first time I have seen him since April 2005 - so one fourth of my life now.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. Next one... when I get around to it, as whenever I promise to update soon life happens. So here's something to tide you over for now.

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This summer was like any other summer since I had started at Hogwarts. Most of the time I spent cooped up in my room, the rest of the time flying around the property, but flying didn't seem to hold it's shine with me anymore. Practice was no longer an ego boost for me, it had become slavework in order to attempt to catch up to the continuously famed Harry Potter. It was no question that I was spiteful about everything concerning the golden boy but this summer was particularly bad. The Gryffindor trio had managed to have the last laugh right before the break. It was something dumb, just they had saw me twirl away only to bump into another student. I then had proceeded to push the person out of my way and call them something demeaning - honestly I didn't even remember what - and there was no doubt that the trio had forgotten what had happened by now. But I hadn't, and it only mattered that I had not just one more time degrading my arch rival before we went their seperate ways.

I really did hate all three of them, Hermione 'Mudblood' Granger, Ronald 'Weasel' Weasley, and Harry 'Scarhead' Potter. Especially Potter, because it had been so damned obvious how easy the other boy had it. Fortune, friends, and most of all fame. The Malfoys have fortune, but the rest of those three points were lost to us. Friends were to be stepped on and would step on you, and therefore were not friends in the usual actual sense of the word. Of course, the Malfoys are respected, known, they had prestige, and that was something to be proud of - and I am, of course - but the only fame the Malfoy family has ever tasted was infamy. Perhaps I am jealous of Harry Potter, though I'd never say it aloud, because Potter didn't have parents to press you as hard as I did, though Potter didn't seem to appreciate that. I, Draco, was spiteful of Harry Potter, because I'd offered his friendship twice, once without knowing who he was and once after finding out he was the legendary boy, and hadn't gotten an answer the first time and when I did get the answer, Harry didn't only reject me but had insulted me as well. These were secrets, of course. No one knows my inner workings, no one has that priviledge, because anyone would use it against me. Especially Slytherins, which are the only people who don't completely hate me.

I want to clarify that my father has never beat me. He's hit me, certainly, and punished me in cruel and unusual ways. That isn't beating. My father never lost control of himself, not once in my life. The pain I felt from lashings or being slapped were momentarily. As a snake, he struck down on me and then was done. The reasoning isn't because my father stops himself, he wouldn't if he had ever beat me to a pulp and cut me enough to cause me serious injury, it's because I simply wasn't worth any more than that sliver of time and energy.

In some backwards logic, he didn't beat me because he didn't love me.

Not that I particularly needed his love, I didn't need anyone. Okay, I did, I needed a reason to live and my parents provided that. Uphold the family pride, Draco, become just like your father. And so I worshipped my father, even as he scorned me because I was only second in class. This was particularly horrid because the first on the percentile was a mudblood. So my scorn for that girl that had resembled a lanky squirrel had justification, even if it was a tad bit late. Ron Weasley he could geniunely dislike just off of personality, or lack there of. It was his hotheaded demeanor, his complete lack of wit, or any form of intelligence it seemed sometimes, that made Draco think he was absolutely ridiculous - on top of his less than pride priviledged family history and lack of money. There's actually not a redeeming factor for the gingerheaded dolt in my eyes.

And maybe that makes me all the more angry that Potter chose Weasley's friendship over mine.

It had already struck me before that my disdain for the three, well for Potter, was to a certain point in which it probably wasn't entirely healthy. Perhaps I focused on him too much, or on subjects that would in their entirety end up having to do with him. But everything had to do with him in Hogwarts. So I grew to dislike Hogwarts. From being excited about Slytherin, to thinking the place had gone to the dogs, to eventually not wanting to go at all and considering Durmstrang. I tell myself I just hate placing second, it's a challenge. That's why I stay. Too bad I only had one more school year to prove myself.

I was considering all these melodramatic things, afterall I'm a melodramatic type of guy who had no one else to press them upon, while laying on my bed and staring pointedly at the ceiling. I do this a lot, idly contemplating. There had also been plots somewhere in his thoughts but they were the subconscious type that you only remember later when they'd be useful. Well, that's how my mind seemed to work anyways. My mind never seemed to jumble, very one track, and that was good, it was how I remained looking calm, cool, and collected. It also upholds my pristene grades, along with my hardened will to defeat Granger.

So I had probably been laying there for a couple hours. I wasn't really lazy, just unmotiviated. My parents didn't include me in their social lives, other than being sent off with the other rich children to entertain each other because children are to be seen and not heard. I knew where my father went, work and Death Eater gatherings. My mother shopped, but never would take me, which I considered strange since I had an eye for fashion, until I realized that Father considered my talent in such things quite a queer habit, in the homosexual definition of the word, and heirs quite simply could not turn out gay or else. That makes sense I suppose. Therefore it was no surprise that I spent many hours alone at home, well alone meaning the only Malfoy, we had servants and a couple house elves left after Potter had so rudely taking away Dobby, damn him and his meddling anyways. It was, however, a surprise when my father sent for me later that evening after dinner and some more thoughts. I hadn't done anything wrong since I had last gotten a good talking to and I very much doubted Father had decided to suddenly praise me for all the effort I had put in for the last six years, if not my entire life.

I knocked and entered, as was normal. My father would not awknowledge me until I was sitting on the other side of his father's desk. Staring at his back as he examined his bookshelves, I rested my eyes on that black ribbon my father sometimes tied his hair back with. He didn't have to look at me to begin talking, he rarely did. "My partners have decided you may be useful to us. Since you've been disappointment after disappointment for awhile now," I couldn't help but huff indignantly. A little respect would be nice. "I could hardly refuse them. And I cant help but agree with them that it just may be the only use you may be to us."

It was on the tip of my tongue, that I had twice the smarts of most of the Death Eaters. Then I remembered that that was what made them so useful, they were disposable and would follow orders unquestioningly. I had a mind of my own, and therefor would be dangerous, especially since my father's ever present eye could portray the cowardice I have or the fact that I worshipped my father and not Voldemort. The Dark Lord should be respected, to be sure, but he was not my master.

I was sick. I am sick. Call me brainwashed.

And though I felt affronted, I was also excited. This is what I had always wanted, well, told that I wanted. Sure, obviously I would not be in the same position as my father and most likely would be something incredibaly lame but everyone had to start somewhere.

It didn't occur to me that my father didn't look at me once in that brief meeting we had, going over the plans for me to go with him that night. I was to leave my want behind, as this was an initiation of sorts and it would be improper for me to bring my wand. It was more of a tradition to prove loyalty and not spyhood, but it had to be followed by everyone. That made sense, I supposed. I hated it, of course, the idea of being defenseless, but it's just what I had to do, or Merlin knew what would happen to me. I wish now that I had followed instinct. I apparatted with him into a forest blindfolded 'for security reasons'. And it happened.

And the story unfolded.

What I didn't know, how could I? Is that this had been in process since before the Death Eaters reformed. My father had the burden of having a pretty son. Quite frankly, successful families breed, they don't have passion, and sex is much better when forced. Remember the type of people my father surrounds himself with. They call themselves refined but they're weird folk, and they thirst for power. Rape is a wonderful outlet for that, and the more taboo the better. I just happened to be next, after the bids for my body had turned to a point in which even my parents could not refuse. Malfoys love power, and here the powerful were giving it to them. And my parents aren't all that old, really. It wouldn't be ideal, of course, but they could have another child as an heir.

My father traded me off for favors, money, and power. I am officially a whore, and my own father was my pimp. A pimp who decided to partake because he might as well, it would be the last time he'd see his beautiful son whom had looked so much like him, who was narcassistic, and Narcissa, who was a very beautiful woman. I wonder just how much my mother knew, but then I remember that she wouldn't care much so I don't care much what she thinks.

I think I understand why Harry doesn't appreciate having no parents as opposed to horrible parents, maybe it's because all we both ever really wanted was the best, not just the better. We both just were two lonely boys that needed a little love, affection, attention that wasn't the consequence of our circumstance.

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A/N: I feel I went a little out of character. I'm sorry. The thoughts seem right, the tone doesn't. Just do what I do and analyze and rewrite each line in your head. Seriously, I do, it's fucked up.