Shattered Reflections
___________________________
Draco stood by the cold, dust-covered window of Malfoy Manor, his reflection staring back at him. He hated what he saw—a pale, hollow version of the boy he used to be. The shadows under his eyes, the trembling of his hands. Fear clung to him like a second skin.
“You’re pathetic,” Lucius spat as he strode into the room, his cane striking the floor like a judge’s gavel. “Hiding here like some frightened child while the rest of us bear the weight of your failures.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t turn. He knew better than to meet his father’s glare head-on. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“And yet here you are,” Lucius sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Dragging the Malfoy name through the mud with every cowardly step you take. Do you think the Dark Lord hasn’t noticed your... weakness? You’re an embarrassment, Draco. To me, to your mother—”
“Don’t bring her into this!” Draco whirled around, his voice sharp, trembling. “She’s the only one who’s ever cared about me!”
Lucius’s lip curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, yes, your precious mother. Always coddling you, always shielding you from the truth. Do you think that’s love? Do you think it will save you when the Dark Lord decides you’re useless?”
“At least she doesn’t treat me like a tool,” Draco shot back, his voice rising. “Like some pawn to be sacrificed for your stupid ambitions!”
Lucius’s eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step forward, his cane striking the floor with a sharp crack. “You ungrateful little brat. Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. I gave you a life of privilege, power, respect—”
“Respect?” Draco laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “No one respects us anymore, Father. They fear us, they hate us, and it’s all because of you! You’ve ruined everything—our family, our name, me! I can’t even look at myself without feeling disgusted!”
“Then don’t look,” Lucius snapped, his voice cutting like a blade. “It’s not as though there’s anything worth seeing. You’ve always been weak, Draco. A disappointment from the moment you failed to bring Potter to his knees.”
Draco flinched as though he’d been struck. He swallowed hard, his chest tight, his heart pounding. “You’ve never loved me, have you?” he whispered. “Not really. I was just another piece on your chessboard. Another way to crawl back into the Dark Lord’s good graces.”
Lucius’s expression flickered—just for a moment—but it was gone before Draco could be sure. “Love is a luxury,” Lucius said coldly. “And you’ve done nothing to earn it.”
The words hit Draco like a curse, leaving him breathless, hollow. He staggered back a step, his shoulders slumping under the weight of them. “I hate you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I hate you for what you’ve done to me. For what you’ve made me.”
Lucius turned away, his back rigid, his grip on his cane trembling ever so slightly. “Hate me if you must,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But remember this, Draco: the world won’t spare you because of your tears. And neither will he.”
Draco watched as his father left the room, the echo of his footsteps lingering long after he was gone. Alone again, Draco sank to the floor, his head in his hands. For the first time in years, he let himself cry.