October 10th 2001

I am prisoner 66754 in Cell Division D of New Azkaban Prison. My crime is murder, my sentence life, and my only regret falling in love.

My name is Draco Malfoy.

I have never been a sentimental person, nor one to transfer the goings on of my mind to paper, but the times demand it of me.

I lived a privileged life- if not a happy one. My family were wealthy aristocrats, and we were not afraid to display our superiority to others. We used our affluence to great gain. Before the war my father was almost running the Ministry. Money can buy anything- but I have learned that it cannot buy freedom.

From birth my path in life was set. In the Malfoy family you did what your elders told you, you upheld the family tradition. I was taught to utilise my magic from a young age, and taught to bend it to the Dark Arts not long after. By the time I arrived at Hogwarts I was more skilled than most; and all too aware of it.

My seven years at Hogwarts were tolerable, although being second best to Potter was far from enjoyable for me, or acceptable in the eyes of my father. I did not mind- once I was free of the confines of the castle I would build the life I had come to recognise as my destiny.

It is because of that destiny that I am here, rotting in a tiny cell, in the worst place in the wizarding world.

I have not been falsely accused, my punishment is no less that I would have expected, and no more than my crime deserves in the eyes of my enemies. My incarceration has been long- although I have only served three years of an endless sentence- but I have suffered worse in my life, and there are many of my comrades who did not even make it to the prison.

I was surprised when they did not kill me on site. Their contempt for me was, in my mind, enough to drive them to execute me like they had many of my fellow fighters. I would not be surprised if they felt imprisoning me would be a far more painful punishment.

They were right if that was their plan.

When I was found I was hunting death.

My life had lost its meaning, its direction. I realised I had become disillusioned with the path I was on. I was fighting for nothing.

I had no one to fight for.

They- those who have imprisoned me- killed her in the second summer of the war. They took the only reason for my life and tore her from me.

Her body was never found, but her death was not questioned. She was dead, there was no doubt.

I mourned alone, her family had never liked me, never trusted my intentions. In the end it was one of them who killed her. He now runs the prison, a lucrative position. After the war, the number of prisoners increased ten fold, and to be Warden of the New Azkaban is quite the station. I hate him, for killing her, for imprisoning me, and for winning the damned war in the first place.

I am bitter. I feel I have a right to be. I am twenty four years old, and I am condemned to spend the rest of my life in this god forsaken place because I did what I believed in.

I could be on the other side of those bars. They gave me enough chances. Even after I had made my allegiances known, they still came to me, still tried to coerce me into joining them. They never gave up on me. Until now.

Betrayal does not sit well with either side. And when I made my decision, I knew that I would be betraying one of them. I would be betraying my family, or my school. It was a harder decision than I gave it credit for at the time. I was young, arrogant and foolish, and I did not stop to think that this incarceration could be the result of my choice. I believed we would win, that they didn’t stand a chance against us, against our power.

It would seem that I was wrong, and now as my soul creeps further into despair I find myself writing down my innermost thoughts in the hope that it will rid me of this desolation

I need answers. I need to know why she died, why they killed her. Why her brother took her life. Unfortunately, in here, I will never find the solutions. I will just rot away in this tiny cell, wondering why everything came to this.