I NEVER SAID I WAS PERFECT

Genre: general, angst; Setting: Hogwarts, year 7; Extra notes: Draco POV, set after book 6. T for language. Word count: 929.

Disclaimer: not mine.

Draco

I never said I was perfect. They all just assumed I was.

Fucking Slytherins.

Of course, I always looked impeccable and nothing short of perfect. I never got the looks wrong. I had the most expensive robes of all, never had a single strand of hair out of place. I had the right 'friends' in the right places, the influence -

Have.

Had.

What's the difference anyway.

They all looked up to me, even the older ones. I am the son of the right-hand man of the Dark Lord, after all. It sounded like a long and impressive title. Later, I got my own: Slytherin's Ice Prince.

Was it the hair? The eyes? The air? The arrogance? The act?

How I thought I had it going back then. Life seemed so perfect at the time. I had the power, the fame, the money; I was adored, no, feared amongst the students. Hated, feared and adored; by one, by all; sometimes even all three at the same time. Such a perfect combination. Such a lethal mix of ingredients.

I was so sure of myself that I thought I'd concocted and bottled victory, all by myself.

How very wrong I was. So naïve, so - Too ambitious for my own good. A deadly collaboration of youth, recklessness, naivety and all-out Slytherin qualities. Ambition. Leadership. Intelligence. Power. No compassion. No courage. Just knowing exactly when to start running to save your own hide.

For some time, I honestly believed I had friends. I believed in loyalty to those that did something for me, in equal trading. Later, I realised not even that was considered worthy to a Slytherin, let alone a Malfoy. Later, I realised I'd never had friends, but only cronies, blind followers and minions. Later, everything was clear.

I've never been brilliant in Divination. Never saw the need to.

I wasn't in Slytherin for ambition or leadership, nor for high intelligence, street-smarts or power, not even for my skills at manipulation and lying when needed, playing my act like a good little boy.

No.

I was sorted into Slytherin, because I was a coward.

I am a coward, for not daring to kill. For not daring to Join.

I wanted to, so bad, I wanted to! It was my dream from when I was so very young to follow the Dark Lord when I was finally old enough, and I would help him purify the wizard race, and I would be his most loyal, like my father.

I would be a hero for the cause.

But cowardice decided to grow a brilliant sense of timing.

I'm not weak-hearted. It wasn't compassion or any other Hufflepuff-emotion that made me not do it. Lord knows the old fool should have died already, anyway. Babbling idiot, Merlin!

But no matter how much I disliked him…

…I couldn't hate him.

I couldn't kill the bloody lemon-drop-offering warlock with the always-annoying twinkle eyes that was laying there so pathetically before my feet on the ground. I was so scared that Severus had to jump in and do it for me. I've never once been so ashamed of myself, so disappointed in my abilities.

I was a coward. I couldn't kill.

Why couldn't I hate? Why couldn't I hate enough?

My whole life, I've been living towards that point. My whole life I was being prepared to join the legions and serve. A whole year I put into planning the bumbling old fool's death and the entry of the Dead Eaters into Hogwarts.

My whole life went down the drain at the moment Snape spoke those two words instead of me.

And I'm scared. I'm so scared of the war now. I screwed up on a direct order from the Dark Lord; I might not even be welcome anymore… Join the light side? Are you mad? I'm hated, since then I'm only hated, by everyone! Slytherins will say I couldn't kill and am weak, the rest of the world will say I almost killed and shouldn't be trusted. I don't fit in anymore. I never really did.

Slytherin.

House of actors. House of masquerades. House of deception. House of lies. House of impostors.

House of...

Evil? Didn't everyone say that?

House of fake. House of cold. House of heartlessness. House that I once dared call home.

House that won't welcome me back anymore.

I'm going to die, I'm going to die and I haven't even properly lived yet. I've never been myself yet! I've never been a normal bloke yet! I never got the chance to.

I don't know which side is going to win. I don't know. Now, I'm relatively safe, in hiding. Maybe I can't ever get out.

No life.

Never had one.

No future.

Am I going to die in green and alone? In pain from suffering an uncountable amount of Crucio's first? Am I going to die smiling or on my knees or curled up into a ball, begging and crying for my pathetic life or what's left of it?

I haven't even loved yet.

"It is better to love and have lost, then never to have loved at all."

Slytherins don't love. Malfoy's don't love. No heart, cold heart. Stone.

If I survive the war…

Too weak. Powerless. Frightened.

I wish I was never born at all.

I'll never be normal, I'll always be heartless, I'll never live, I'm going to die, I never got a chance to -

Malfoy's don't ramble. Malfoy's are composed. Malfoy's aren't scared. Ignore the rules and disgrace the Malfoy name.

I'm just a boy!

I never said I was perfect. They told me I was.

Please tell me -

Malfoy's don't beg.

- that I'll live!