My first attempt at HP fanfic:
He was crying again, the tears slid down his cheeks rather quickly and his eyes burned from the sleepless nights. He didn't know how long he could keep this up. The plotting, the risks, the hurt. He was only a kid. Why couldn't they understand? They always did this ... always. He knew it wasn't their fault. Anyone would do anything to please the Dark Lord, and it was no different for them. His parents had tried very hard to make the lord pleased, but they managed to fail so many times. His father was still upset with Bellatrix, who had won the lord's allegience. It was disgusting, the way they begged for his attention by doing horrendous deeds. And now it was this. The Dark Lord had given his parents one more chance to prove themselves, otherwise the consequences would be dire. Just one more chance was all they needed. They wanted to show the lord how wonderful they were, how they would respect him and do whatever he commanded them to do. What better way to do it then use their own son as a pawn? He didn't want to think of it that way. He knew that his parents probably did care about him, but what else could he think? He had begged them to hand the task to someone else. He wasn't able to do it. He would never be able to something like this.
"Father, even you know I can't do this. I'm not-"
"Draco, do you not care about this family? Do want us all to suffer because of you! You have never done anything good for this family, and now when a chance has presented itself, you dare not to take it! You know how important this is! The Dark Lord is no fool! He knew you were good for this task."
"But I can't-"
"Draco, you will do this - do you understand? You will make this family proud, or you will leave."
"Yes, father."
And the matter had ended there. He had said nothing that was significent.
How could he kill someone? Draco had always liked it before - all the killing and torturing, but now, when it was him to do this, he felt horrid. It was as if his soul would be damaged. Like he wouldn't be pure. He wasn't pure, he knew that, but at least he hadn't taken the life of someone.
He didn't like Hogwarts, actually, he despised it. Dumbledore was too friendly, too equal. He didn't have a big problem with mudbloods. He tried acting like he did. His parents had told him before. In the wizarding world, those who are of higher standards, the ones with the most respect, were pure. He couldn't mix with the foul kind or his blood would be spoiled, and he wouldn't be looked the same way. He had to keep the reputation of the family. Dumbledore was pure, yet he being a giant idiot, decided to hurt his own family. Mudbloods were cursed. He wasn't sure why, but they were. Disgusting, illierate, but you know that's not true, a voice said in his mind.
Although he did not like Dumbledore, he couldn't kill him. That wasn't something he'd ever expected. Dumbledore had never done anything in particular to him that would make him vile enough to do that. Dumbledore was powerful and loved by many - there was no way he would get the chance.
But suddenly, the thought he had been tryiing to keep in the back of his mind creeped up. If he didn't do this - if he failed - his family would die. He knew that was the truth because he had seen it happen before. He knew he would fail. Draco Malfoy could do nothing. He had never been able to prove himself, and now to do this? Everyone he loved ... dead .... including him. He was nothing ... a small blot. Someone should have just killed him and got it over with.
He suddenly was jerked back into reality as he heard soft footsteps coming to this room. He didn't care who it was or about his tears. They would suffer for coming in here. He gripped his wand tightly, staring intently at the door. It slowly opened with a gentle creak! and he subconciously relaxed. Granger. She didn't seem to notice him, but instead was looking at the other end of the room, as if she was searching for something, until her eyes met his. She then glared, before her face softened. He would've killed her, but he kept still. If she was here, Weasley and Potter would probably be nearby, and they would hex him to death. She was also witty. She knew what he was thinking, and was probably planning on sheilding herself. But he was also curious, why did she look sorry? She didn't pity him, did she? A mudblood pitying HIM?
"Draco," she said softy, "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying." He responded. He didn't know why he bothered lying. "Look, it's none of your concern. You don't mention to anyone, and I'll leave you alone."
"I ... it's odd."
"Odd?"
"Infamous Draco Malfoy never cries unless he is laughing so hard that tears are coming out of his eyes because he just tortured a first year."
"Why do you even care?" He spat.
"Because I ... I want to help you."'
"You want to help me? Then leave."
"Draco," she looked serious, "I'm a Gryffindor. We don't see other people crying - we have an urge to help them. I know .... we both hate eachother, but please, let me help."
She walked toward him, and took a seat directly in front of him crossing her legs, and putting a hand on his shoulder which he shrugged off.
"I don't need help from mudbloods. What would my father think?" She cringed at the insult.
"Mudbloods are people too, aren't they? And so what? Draco, you're not living your live for him. You're living it for you. You don't have to do anything that he forces you to do."
"He isn't forci-"
"You don't need my help, anyway, so I'll be leaving." She slowly got up and walked toward the door.
But something had happened to him. She had given him confidence with mere words. He wanted to thank her, but he wanted to hear more. It was as if someone had lit a light-bulb. He felt happy. Someone had said what he had wanted to say, what he had wanted to hear. Someone actually had a similar opinion, something he had thought wasn't possible. He had thought his brain was messed up, that he was weird. Only his parents thought right, but now he was wrong. Right before her figure disappeared, he exclaimed, "Hermione, please, wait!"
He was crying again, the tears slid down his cheeks rather quickly and his eyes burned from the sleepless nights. He didn't know how long he could keep this up. The plotting, the risks, the hurt. He was only a kid. Why couldn't they understand? They always did this ... always. He knew it wasn't their fault. Anyone would do anything to please the Dark Lord, and it was no different for them. His parents had tried very hard to make the lord pleased, but they managed to fail so many times. His father was still upset with Bellatrix, who had won the lord's allegience. It was disgusting, the way they begged for his attention by doing horrendous deeds. And now it was this. The Dark Lord had given his parents one more chance to prove themselves, otherwise the consequences would be dire. Just one more chance was all they needed. They wanted to show the lord how wonderful they were, how they would respect him and do whatever he commanded them to do. What better way to do it then use their own son as a pawn? He didn't want to think of it that way. He knew that his parents probably did care about him, but what else could he think? He had begged them to hand the task to someone else. He wasn't able to do it. He would never be able to something like this.
"Father, even you know I can't do this. I'm not-"
"Draco, do you not care about this family? Do want us all to suffer because of you! You have never done anything good for this family, and now when a chance has presented itself, you dare not to take it! You know how important this is! The Dark Lord is no fool! He knew you were good for this task."
"But I can't-"
"Draco, you will do this - do you understand? You will make this family proud, or you will leave."
"Yes, father."
And the matter had ended there. He had said nothing that was significent.
How could he kill someone? Draco had always liked it before - all the killing and torturing, but now, when it was him to do this, he felt horrid. It was as if his soul would be damaged. Like he wouldn't be pure. He wasn't pure, he knew that, but at least he hadn't taken the life of someone.
He didn't like Hogwarts, actually, he despised it. Dumbledore was too friendly, too equal. He didn't have a big problem with mudbloods. He tried acting like he did. His parents had told him before. In the wizarding world, those who are of higher standards, the ones with the most respect, were pure. He couldn't mix with the foul kind or his blood would be spoiled, and he wouldn't be looked the same way. He had to keep the reputation of the family. Dumbledore was pure, yet he being a giant idiot, decided to hurt his own family. Mudbloods were cursed. He wasn't sure why, but they were. Disgusting, illierate, but you know that's not true, a voice said in his mind.
Although he did not like Dumbledore, he couldn't kill him. That wasn't something he'd ever expected. Dumbledore had never done anything in particular to him that would make him vile enough to do that. Dumbledore was powerful and loved by many - there was no way he would get the chance.
But suddenly, the thought he had been tryiing to keep in the back of his mind creeped up. If he didn't do this - if he failed - his family would die. He knew that was the truth because he had seen it happen before. He knew he would fail. Draco Malfoy could do nothing. He had never been able to prove himself, and now to do this? Everyone he loved ... dead .... including him. He was nothing ... a small blot. Someone should have just killed him and got it over with.
He suddenly was jerked back into reality as he heard soft footsteps coming to this room. He didn't care who it was or about his tears. They would suffer for coming in here. He gripped his wand tightly, staring intently at the door. It slowly opened with a gentle creak! and he subconciously relaxed. Granger. She didn't seem to notice him, but instead was looking at the other end of the room, as if she was searching for something, until her eyes met his. She then glared, before her face softened. He would've killed her, but he kept still. If she was here, Weasley and Potter would probably be nearby, and they would hex him to death. She was also witty. She knew what he was thinking, and was probably planning on sheilding herself. But he was also curious, why did she look sorry? She didn't pity him, did she? A mudblood pitying HIM?
"Draco," she said softy, "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying." He responded. He didn't know why he bothered lying. "Look, it's none of your concern. You don't mention to anyone, and I'll leave you alone."
"I ... it's odd."
"Odd?"
"Infamous Draco Malfoy never cries unless he is laughing so hard that tears are coming out of his eyes because he just tortured a first year."
"Why do you even care?" He spat.
"Because I ... I want to help you."'
"You want to help me? Then leave."
"Draco," she looked serious, "I'm a Gryffindor. We don't see other people crying - we have an urge to help them. I know .... we both hate eachother, but please, let me help."
She walked toward him, and took a seat directly in front of him crossing her legs, and putting a hand on his shoulder which he shrugged off.
"I don't need help from mudbloods. What would my father think?" She cringed at the insult.
"Mudbloods are people too, aren't they? And so what? Draco, you're not living your live for him. You're living it for you. You don't have to do anything that he forces you to do."
"He isn't forci-"
"You don't need my help, anyway, so I'll be leaving." She slowly got up and walked toward the door.
But something had happened to him. She had given him confidence with mere words. He wanted to thank her, but he wanted to hear more. It was as if someone had lit a light-bulb. He felt happy. Someone had said what he had wanted to say, what he had wanted to hear. Someone actually had a similar opinion, something he had thought wasn't possible. He had thought his brain was messed up, that he was weird. Only his parents thought right, but now he was wrong. Right before her figure disappeared, he exclaimed, "Hermione, please, wait!"