Never good enough

I was never good enough in Father's eyes. I was supposed to be perfect, perfect like he was perfect. Perfect in a way that made people hate you.

I never wanted to be perfect. I never wanted people to hate me like they hated Father. I wanted to be a good guy. Father would have none of that, of course; I was to be just like him. I was to be his perfect little clone, never had I wanted that, but I loved him and I wanted to make him proud.

So, I decided to make him proud of me, and I tried. I really tried, but it was never enough for him. I was never cold enough, never distant enough, never hateful enough. But still I tried. I tried to hate people. Like Harry Potter, I've never really hated him. How could I? He saved us all from the Dark Lord.

I never wanted to be the Slytherin Prince I've become. I wanted to be in Slytherin to make Father proud. But I never quite managed that, I always came up a little short.

Every year I hated the Gryffindors more. Every year I said Mudblood more and hated myself more for it. Every year when I came home for the summer Father was just as disappointed in me, just as unimpressed by my near perfect grades. Second to a Mudblood he would say. Second to Muggle Scum and you expect me to be proud of you?

Every year when I went back I would try harder to beat Granger, but every year she would win. Yet still I could not hate her. Father knew this. Knew how I'd tried to befriend Harry Potter that day on the train. He told me I was lucky the boy had refused. Otherwise he'd have been forced to make my life hell, as if he hadn't already. Still, I wished that the dark haired boy had accepted my offer of friendship. I still wish I could be his friend.

But that was never to happen, not to me. No, I was to be the Ice Prince of Slytherin. I was to have no real friends. I had plenty of followers, of course but never friends. Malfoy's did not have friends. No, we were to be distant from everyone, even those on our side, fighting for the same ridiculous cause. I was never even allowed to go to Blaise Zabini's house, the heir of one of the richest and most prestigious families in Britain. Or Pansy's, the girl I was to marry soon after leaving Hogwarts.

After only two years of Hogwarts I could take it no longer and had to find a way to cope. For all of third year I tried various ways to numb the pain. Alcohol was too hard to acquire as a third year student. It never even helped me with anything, the only thing that happened when I drank was I woke with a pounding headache and problems that seemed to have grown larger over the night.

I tried cutting. It worked for a while, but it was too much of a short term cure. I would feel gloriously numb while I cut and for maybe an hour after. It grew to be too much of dependence for me, and Malfoy's depend on nothing and no one.

Then I found drugs. Muggle drugs at first worked wonderfully. They didn't numb you temporarily they just made everything fuzzy at the edges; I was able to keep my near perfect marks, with a lot more work, but it was worth it for the lessening of my problems it gave me. Better than alcohol which consumed me in numbness, and I do so hate to not be in control.

But then the Muggle drugs stopped working for me. For the summer between third and fourth years everything was painfully clear. I went back to cutting until I found new drugs, drugs that couldn't be countered by a wizard's natural immunity to toxins. Wizard drugs I called them. They were glorious.

Better than even the fuzzy edges I'd known before, they gave the world a sort of shine. Everything around me was brighter. Everything sparkled and glowed. Everywhere I looked at was beautiful. It's hard to remember your problems when everything shines. For all of fourth through sixth year that shine gave me a semblance of sanity, but that summer everything went to hell.

Father was crazy. No doubt about it now, he had gone mad with the death of his precious Lord. He began to beat Mother and me. She left after a while, it was too much for her, and she left before he killed her.

Not long after she left Father found one of my syringes. That night he beat me to unconsciousness. When I woke he had taken all of my stash and destroyed it. He spoke to me the next day, as rationally as he could manage. He told me that if he ever found drugs on or near my person, he would kill me. No questions asked. It was clear again, for the first time in years, just how huge my problems were. By the time I was to return to Hogwarts I was resigned to live the rest of my life striving once more to please Father.

Then I got here and I saw Him every day with his friends and admirers, I couldn't take it anymore. So many people were allowed to love Him, but not me. I had to suffer from a distance. I had long forgotten in my drug induced haze how much it hurt not to be His friend. I still wanted to talk to Him, hang out or at the very least be able to call Him by his first name.

It was too much, the need to please Father, the need to talk to Him, and the ever present need for escape. My father was never pleased by what I suffered through for him. The Saviour of the world never cared a thing for me, He hated me and would be perfectly happy were I to die. And the shine was lost to me forever; Father had made sure of that with more than just threats to my life.

I had nothing left in me worth living for. That is how I arrived to be where I am, the Prefect's washroom. Staring into the mirror at my disheveled reflection. Normally perfect blonde hair grown greasy and lank, dark circles under bloodshot, grey eyes and a look in them that would make the sternest person weep. A look of utter despair, one you see only from those that have one direction left to go, and that is down.

I had chosen my final path, I had resigned myself to my decision; I was going to end my life. For long minutes I stared at myself in the mirror contemplating my life and all the ways I could have made it better, but had let pass by from fear. Fear had left me in this position, wand in hand, wrist barred and regrets still fresh in my mind. I was ready for death. Staring into my own eyes I saw all the things that I hated about myself swim to the surface, free for the whole world to see.

I was ready to end my life.

I pointed the wand at my wrist and whispered the favourite spell of my favourite professor.

Sectumsempra.

Incredible pain, it was wonderful. After so long with nothing to dull the painful clarity of reality a cut to the wrist was better than the first time I'd stuck a needle in my arm. The blood running down my arm was my ink and the tile floor my parchment.

In my last moments, the door to the room opened and in He walked.

He paused in the doorway, looking at the blood running all over the floor. He walked over to where I lay my hair now stained red with my blood. He didn't even bother stepping around the spreading pool of red.

Malfoy, He said, why?

What do I have to live for? I responded.

He shook his head. I don't know, but you could have had so much. If only you had thought to ask, we could have saved you. You could have saved me. You could have saved us all.

How?

He shakes his head. Even a hero needs to be saved, Draco. I need saving. What will the world do when they lose their hero?

I shake my head, uncomprehending.

He sighed. You could have saved me. I needed you, Draco. The people I have now are not enough to keep from going down a path just like yours. You could have stopped me and I'd have been there to save the world again.

I understood then, He was like I was, at the end of his rope, no where left to go and I could have stopped Him. I could have saved the world.

I sighed as I felt the last of my life force seep out of me.

If only we would have known before Harry, at the start of this all. We could have saved the world together. We could have lived to the end of our days as friends. We could have… I trailed off, unable to finish.

He nodded in understanding. Goodbye, Draco. I'll see you soon I'm sure. How will the world fend for itself when the heroes and saviours are gone?

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my sweaty forehead. Then he lifts me into a sitting position, so I need not die on my back on a dirty washroom floor. I leaned against Him as I said my last words, ones that I had never before said:

Thank you.

A/N Hope you all like it, I was in an angsty mood (when am I not?) and Carson, my darling Beta, gave me this idea.

Review please.