Who am I? What a curious thing to ask. I should think you know who I am, or if you don’t you’ve been either living under a rock these past years or you’re profoundly ignorant.
But for the benefit of those who obviously need it, my name is Draco Malfoy. I am the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. We are one of the oldest and richest of the pure-blood families.
That meant something once.
Not anymore.
A war was fought, Light triumphing over Dark as it always bloody does. My family and I were on the wrong side. When ... Vo— damn it, Voldemort fell, bested by that blasted Saint Potter, it should have been a moment of pure despair. We had lost. We had failed. But I was glad, overwhelmed, in fact, by a rush of freedom and an influx of gratitude. I had been saved. My mother and my father held me tightly and I am not ashamed to admit that I cried like a little girl.
That was a year ago. I now work for The Ministry, having passed my NEWTs with flying colours. My colleagues neither trust nor like me and I suspect my appointment was nothing more than a Ministry gimmick, a Care in the Community stunt. I still live at the Manor (although that will change in the very near future). No, I don’t have any friends, and no, I don’t particularly want any; they betray and sometimes they die.
I think that’s all I have to say right now. I’m tired.
Comment if you want to. I’ll see if I feel like answering later.