Draco: Dragon. Fire-breathing monster with talons to shred a man. Some say the name suits me perfectly; I beg to differ. Everyone thinks that I’m a bully and knows that I was a Death Eater. But they don’t know me. To be honest, nowadays, I don’t think anyone does. Not even me.


Malfoy: a name I once bore with my head held high. As a child, I lived in the Manor in luxury. I had everything done for me and was taught to be demanding and to exercise power. Sometimes Father made me ask for things I didn’t want just to show that I could get what I wanted from anyone. I just went along with it because I was scared of what he would do if I disobeyed him. I learned early that getting him angry was not a good idea.


Mother never made me do anything I didn’t want to do. She gave me advice and told me that I could be whoever I wanted to be. She was always there for me when Father got angry. She would cuddle me when I cried and kiss me better when I was hurt. She would read me stories about dragons and say that one day we could all go to Romania and see the dragons there. When I was younger, I would bounce up and down on my bed and imagine what it would be like to see lots of real life dragons. I asked every night when we were going. Each time she would reply, “One day, my little dragon.� Once I got to school, I realised that that was a promise that was never going to be fulfilled.


I remember once when I was about eight years old and I couldn’t sleep. I stormed into her bedroom and demanded a story. But she didn’t tell me a story about dragons or any other mythical beast. She told me a story about a little girl who had two sisters. The eldest sister had beautiful dark hair and was always too busy for her younger sisters. The second sister had run away to marry a Mudblood. The third sister had always been there for her family but had never got as much back. I had sat on her bed, mesmerised by this new, different story. I asked her every night after that to tell me a story about the three beautiful sisters, never realising that they were about her own life. She told me that the third sister had grown up and married a very rich man, and that they had had a son who always asked his mother for stories. This was many weeks later; only then did I identify the family as my own.


Finally the day came when Mother told me about Hogwarts. The motto was about dragons; I was hooked straight away. Father always seemed too busy to tell me about anything. Mother told me about the Houses and the History, and I knew at once that I would be in Slytherin. Everything about it seemed right. Slytherin was the House of the Purebloods, and I was from two of the most ancient Pureblood families in the country, and they had been Slytherins going back generations. When Father finally told me about Hogwarts, I already knew everything he told me.


When I met him in Madam Malkin’s I had no absolutely no idea who he was. I just assumed that he was your average new student getting fitted for his robes. At first I thought he was a Mudblood because he knew nothing about Hogwarts or, it seemed, the rest of the Wizarding World. But he told me that his parents were a witch and wizard. When I saw him on the Hogwart’s Express, I realised just how I had treated him in the shop: with the scorn I treated anyone who I didn’t know to be better than me. Potter made a decision that day to dislike me and I think that I deserved it, for I certainly reciprocated.


In my first year at Hogwarts I enjoyed being a leader. I enjoyed the power and felt safer with people to back me up. I was always taunting Potter, trying to get him into trouble. He had chosen a Weasley and a Mudblood over me, Draco Malfoy. I didn’t care. I had Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy. I was better than him. Yet I always felt jealous of his friends. I wished that I could’ve been one of the Chosen One’s friends, but for some reason, I always felt jealous of Weasley and never Granger. I supposed I just despised the idea of being a Mudblood.


I went to the library a lot in my first year. I missed my mother’s stories quite a bit, so I went to get books about dragons. Granger was always in the library. I watched her sometimes. She seemed to know where everything was; she looked so at home at a table, writing furiously with her worn quill. I sometimes wanted to go and stand behind her and see what she was writing, but the one time I did she told me to leave her alone without even looking up. I left her alone after that. Sometimes I followed them down to Hagrid’s shack at the edge of the Forest. They never saw me until I hear the word dragon. I couldn’t resist looking in then. There was a baby dragon, newly-hatched, on the table. I pressed my face against the glass to see it better and then Potter saw me. I ran back up to the school as quickly as I could. I watched the Trio closely after that. I borrowed that book off Weasley because I wanted to know what they were doing about the dragon. I never tipped off Filch. He heard me going up to the Astronomy Tower for a chance to see a real life dragon. I wouldn’t have missed it in a million years.


When Potter got onto the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, my father and I were furious. I should’ve been the first year on a house team, not him! He didn’t even know how to play Quidditch! And the worst bit was that I was responsible for it. Father was adamant that I be on the Slytherin Team the following year. Seven Nimbus 2001s secured me a place as Seeker. It also got me quite a few girls. Pansy started to follow me everywhere, but I always felt so self-conscious of her being there. I never wanted her on my arm. I never wanted any of the girls in Slytherin really. I never felt anything for them.


There were dragons at the Triwizard tournament. Potter got to face the Hungarian Horntail; what I would’ve done for the opportunity! Potter and Diggory were the school heroes for the whole year. Potter got all the glory, even though it was obvious that Granger was behind his success. I could see that so clearly; why could no-one else? The Yule Ball showed him up. Granger left her partner; his and Weasley’s deserted them. I wanted to ask her for a dance, but Pansy was clinging to me the whole night like a barnacle. She was beautiful that night. When Weasley made her leave, I felt the urge to go up to him and tell him what an idiot he was. I stopped myself, even though the anger was coursing through my whole body. I was supposed to look refined tonight. I should act the part too. I returned to the Slytherin dormitories that night, horrified and yet ecstatic. I had fallen for Hermione Granger: Gryffindor, Mudblood, friend of Potter and lover of House-Elves. There was no question about it, and I dreaded what everyone would say if they found out. There only seemed to be one solution: make sure they didn’t.


The showdown at the Ministry got my father sent to Azkaban. I hated the Weasleys even more after that. Hermione was at the Ministry too. I often sat in the library wondering whether I should ask her about it, but I couldn’t pluck up the courage. I didn’t want to be told to mind my own business. I sometimes considered asking her to go with me to Hogsmeade some weekend, but how was I to do that if I couldn’t even ask her about what happened at the Ministry? I wished and wished that I could be braver, but nothing ever came of the hopeless prayer. I wouldn’t to face the inevitable humiliation of rejection.


I also became curious about one of the Aurors. Her name was Tonks: the same name as the man Mother’s second sister had married. I found out that Tonks was my cousin. She was a half-blood and had been in Hufflepuff. She married Professor Lupin, a werewolf, because she loved him. I wish I could’ve met her when I was younger. She seemed like she was a fun person. They both died in the Battle of Hogwarts, leaving their son with my aunt Andromeda. I wonder what my nephew is like. I wonder if he knows that he has an uncle.


Before my sixth year, I got the Mark. I was proud of it to begin with, but Dumbledore showed me differently. I tried to kill him three times, and he still showed me sympathy. I knew there and then that it was a question of worth. I had failed to kill Dumbledore, so I was not worthy of the mark. But then the Carrows arrived. I was a Death Eater, just like them, but when I saw what they did to the students I didn’t think I wanted to be one of them anymore. During the Battle, I snuck up to the Headmaster’s Office and spoke to Dumbledore. I was in a state: Potter had just saved my life twice. He explained to me that I wasn’t unworthy of the Mark; the Mark was unworthy of me. But when I rejoined the Battle, I joined the Death Eaters. Why? Because they were winning: Harry Potter was ‘dead’. My parents were there too. We were Slytherins: we saved our own skins. We joined The Dark Lord because we didn’t want to die, no matter what the cause. We were afraid of Death. Dumbledore told me that The Dark Lord was too.


I suppose I always knew that I would never hold Hermione, but now she has Weasley and there is no hope for me. She will never know how I felt, no matter how much I’ve grown this year, wishing I’d done something else, been someone else. I still don’t understand why I fell in love with her, but I did and even that doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think Weasley really appreciates what he’s got. He has no idea how jealous I am. I hope he takes care of Hermione. She deserves so much better than either of us. If she were mine, I would love her all my life and take care of her. She would always have anything she wanted, and we could have a massive private library at Malfoy Manor. We would have children and take them to Romania to see the dragons there. But that’s all pointless dreaming. It will never happen with us. Perhaps one day I will find someone who can replace the piece in my heart that I gave to Granger.


Now everything is over: the war, the Death Eaters, Hogwarts. I sit here, binging on Butterbeer in my miserable home. My parents are being questioned at the Ministry, so I am alone. I prefer it that way. As I drink, I am thinking. Thinking about my life. Thinking about the Battle. Thinking about Snape and about Dumbledore. I’ve been foolish, selfish and insecure. I turned to the Dark Arts but I can change. Snape did. I want to change. I want to be proud of the right things for the right reasons. I want to be proud of myself. I don’t want to be scared anymore: not of my father, not of Death. There are far worse things. I think I will finally take my mother’s advice. I will leave the mask with the past. I will be who I want to be. And I want to be myself.