I read a book once... One of those muggle self-help books. It was something about gratitude and apologies...
The two sentiments I never received in my life.
I was supposed to be the honor and pride of one of the most influential and powerful families in the wizarding world. I was supposed to be the esteemed Malfoy heir.
From an early age, I was groomed to embody the virtues of pureblood supremacy. My father was an ardent believer in the superiority of pureblood wizards and taught me the same values. My father deemed gratitude and humility beneath us.
I grew up in a lavish manor filled with weary riches few knew in the wizarding world. I was given everything I ever desired, often without even having to ask for it. But deep down, I longed for something more - the warmth of genuine affection and the feeling of being truly understood.
When I was little I used to ask questions. My mother once told me about how inquisitive I was... Or I used to be. I was silenced for my inquisitive nature at a very young age and punished for challenging the status quo.
The first time I said thank you my father reprimanded me and told me we were above such sentiments. The second time I said thank you for something, I was punished for such inferior thinking. For not being proud of my standing and lowering myself to the levels of commoners, or Merlin forbid muggles. I spent 3 lonely days in the cellar expressing my gratitude before Dibs, my favorite house elf brought me food. I was too scared to say thank you.
After that anytime I uttered a thanks I was hexed because time alone in the cellar was not enough for a child with my stubbornness.
My father's teachings were imparted through harsh punishments whenever I made the slightest mistake. Incorrect answers, opinions that didn't align with my father's beliefs, or questions deemed inappropriate all led to painful hexes and jinxes.
And still, I never understood him. Not properly.
The first time I questioned my mother about why the house elves were treated as slaves, she shushed me and advised me to never question such nonsense again.
My father never liked muggles. The first time I asked him why he hated them I was left on the floor unconscious due to a Crutiatus. Not many people realise this but after around a 50times, you become numb to a hex. After that incident, I did my best to hide away from my parents while they were home.
My mother didn't pay attention to me. Most of the time she was busy with her circle of witches and wizards. Dibs used to take care of me in those times, and I took care of him whenever my father tortured him because my nonsensical questions made him angry at me.
But then one day I did something very wrong and my father showed me how the most nefarious spell of the wizard world worked. He used it on Dibs. And I saw him fall, his body going cold, his color going pale and his eyes lost their spark, turning lifeless. All the while I begged my father for forgiveness but he never listened. He did however make me remember to never get attached to someone and never be apologetic to anyone. I was to live by the Malfoy way and if I deviated from the Malfoy way then the ones I cared for would get hurt.
I learned early in my life that no one felt remorse for me, no one cared if I was bloody or bruised from the hexes. No one was there to sympathize or help me.
Then one day, I received my letter from Hogwarts, I was excited about it. I was finally getting away from my father. I was happy.
We went to a gathering of witches and wizards. I was accompanying my father to this gathering as the heir to Malfoy's legacy when I heard someone say how they felt sorry for Harry Potter.
Of course, I knew who Harry was but I didn't understand why someone would feel sorry for him. He was rich everyone knew that. He was lucky and the only survivor of the Dark Lord. He was loved by his parents who died protecting him. He had wizards who respected and feared him. So why would someone feel sorry for him?
I couldn't help but wonder why no one had ever extended such empathy to me. No one ever felt sorry for me. When I cried at night of loneliness no one felt sorry for me. No one felt sorry when Father tortured Dibs. No one was there to be sorry when I received those hexes. But they felt sorry for Harry. Why? Why did they feel sorry for Harry, while I remained forgotten and unnoticed?