**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post
from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary. If this is your first visit to The
Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that
follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone. In said introductory post, which,
shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we
all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes
with a perfectly clear lens—hence the
name The Scratched Camera.
Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that
follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.** ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~
Draco Malfoy—Twitchy Little Grown-Up Ferret
If you’ve read any of my
introductory or personal posts, you’ll know that I got my start in writing
Draco/Hermione fan fiction.
Therefore, it would be safe to say that both of those characters are
rather close to my heart. However,
there’s no denying that the fan fiction versions of Hermione and Draco can be
warped and an exaggerated version of ‘alternative.’ I assure you I will be focusing strictly on the canon
conceptions of this character, and I promise to do my best to keep my own
personal slightly alternative Draco off the table.
I feel certain some would wonder
why I’d even bother dedicating a post to Draco Malfoy. He is undeniably a
petulant, spoiled brat. He’s a
bully, through and through. He’s
cunning and conniving in all the wrong ways. He’s intelligent, but he dedicates his resources to
nefarious tactics instead of using it as a force for good—he knows precisely
what to say to tear someone down.
That
being said, the audience must always remember that we hear things from Harry’s point of view. Is Draco Malfoy malicious and cruel? Yes, there is no doubt that he can be
quite mean-spirited. Does he
genuinely believe Hermione Granger—and all other Muggle-borns—are below
him? Yes, he truly does. But, not all of the fault must fall to
his shoulders; there is no doubt in my mind that we are inclined to adapt the
beliefs of our parents. Upon
moving out and realizing you need to purchase your own laundry detergent for the
very first time, most consumers will immediately seek out whatever brand their
parents used. It’s a natural
inclination—to seek out the comfortable and familiar. This same basic principle can be applied to Draco Malfoy—or
any child, really—adapting the prejudices of their parents.
Is
the next generation capable of breaking the mold? I firmly believe so, but it is by no means an easy task. For a character like Draco, who most
likely lived a very sheltered childhood, surrounded only by family and friends
who all held the same basic beliefs as his parents, his chances of breaking the
mold were probably close to impossible.
Upon
reaching Hogwarts, some would argue that he should’ve actively sought to change
his opinions, particularly once he met Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born who
clearly defied all of his father’s preconceived notions on those born of
Muggle-parentage. Unfortunately
for Draco, there were other aspects at play that made him cling to those
beliefs as opposed to removing them, as he ought to have.
The
regard Draco held for his father was nothing short of hero-worship. He saw his father as this pinnacle of
success and sophistication. Lucius,
in the eyes of Draco, had the best social contacts, the best blood, the best money,
the best wife. But he didn’t have
the best son.
No
matter what Draco did, he always seemed to fall short of someone else. He could never top Granger’s
grades. He could never be as
popular as Potter. He could never
be as well loved as Weasley. And don’t
even mention the Snitch, because Draco can never seem to find it.
The
Golden Trio snidely poke comments towards Malfoy for all of these things, of
course. And, as the reader, we
laugh right along with them, because, as the bully, he deserves it, right? A spoonful of his own medicine never
did anyone harm, or, at least, that’s the argument held by many. While I understand that Malfoy’s a ferret
an unmitigated tormentor, I can’t help but think that two wrongs can’t possibly
make a right.
I
won’t deny that there are times when Malfoy can earn a chuckle from me, albeit
a chuckle of the begrudgingly released variety. He can be very witty, if not cruel. Of course, whenever pressed on this
issue in the past, I have refused to admit to it. People do tend to judge you when you laugh at that comment
Malfoy muttered about if brains were gold, Neville would be poorer than Ron.
People also tend to assume that my
mild enjoyment of Draco is simply because Tom Felton is attractive. While I won’t deny that he’s certainly drop
dead sexy alluring, I can acknowledge that there is more to it than that. There is a quality to Draco that always
had me feeling a bit sorry for him.
His father demands he be great, but offers no support or encouragement
to help him along the way.
Eventually, if you are scolded and told enough times that you are a
horrendous disappointment, you will simply settle upon the idea that you are
one. He always tries, of course,
but I think part of the reason he never completely succeeds is because he knows
he will always fail.
Perhaps
the reason I like sympathize with Draco is that I can relate to him, in
a way. I believe we all have that
person in our life that is infinitely better at completing something than we
are; a person who makes us unbelievably frustrated and makes us feel valueless. Some of us are even lucky enough
burdened with several such people
traipsing through our lives. In
the case of Draco Malfoy, almost every single person in his life is like
this. Sure, he has Crabbe, Goyle
and Parkinson lapping at his feet.
But it is obligatory—there’s no real friendship involved there. It’s all in the sake of his name, not
any enjoyment in his company.
Draco
knows as much. It is for this
precise reason that he chooses to consult with none of his supposed friends when he is shoveled the task of
killing the headmaster. While
they’re not necessarily a bright batch of students, they could’ve helped him in
some way, been a shoulder to cry on—either literally or metaphorically, I’m
certain of it.
But, instead, he chooses to go at
it alone. Some would say this is
out of pride—he wants the credit for succeeding on his own. I can agree with that, especially since
he acknowledges as much in the confrontation in the Astronomy Tower. Is it so bad that he finally wants to
succeed in something without the slightest chance of having his due stripped
away? On the other hand, I would
argue that it is due to his distinct compartmentalizing that he simply refused
to think of them as his friends and, therefore, saw no reason to approach them
on the matter, beyond trivial progress reports. Besides, they are
rather useless anyway.
His
job, his task, was a turning point for Draco. In the five years that we have followed him, it has been
obvious that he worships his father and, therefore, seeks to follow in his
footsteps to Voldemort’s side. Malfoy
had built this image in his head—him as a Death Eater, finally taking his
position at Voldemort’s side. And,
in this vision, he convinced himself that this would be the solution. He would no longer feel
inadequate. He would have the
power and respect he truly deserved, not to mention his father would finally be
satisfied. This would be it; he
would finally be contented.
Unfortunately,
achieving his dream wasn’t everything he had imagined it would be. Shockingly, it was hard work to be a Death Eater. You didn’t just get the Mark slapped on your arm and
magically receive the reverence and respect of Voldemort and the other Death
Eaters. You had to work to earn
it, and with work, comes the potential to fail all over again.
The
task he was given was an impossible one, designed to further punish the Malfoys
after Lucius’ failure in the Department of Mysteries the previous year. You don’t just assign a sixteen-year-old
kid to kill the man you haven’t been able to take down for over two
decades.
Everyone,
once again, assumes he will fail.
Voldemort tailored the assignment intending for Draco to fail. Harry may be concerned and have his
suspicions, but, in general, and as per usual, the Golden Trio aren’t too
worried about what Malfoy may have up his sleeves. They’ve never exactly considered him a capable adversary—a
fact they will soon grow to regret.
Miraculously,
on some level, he does actually succeed.
Sure, he may have a few pratfalls along the way. Draco grows paranoid and terrified that
he won’t succeed and, therefore, attempts to take the easy way out twice,
nearly killing the Quidditch chick Katie Bell and Ron in the
process. But, while it may take
some time, he does succeed in repairing the heavily damaged Vanishing Cabinet. Told you he was smart. As a result, Death Eaters now have free
reign of the castle, a fact which he admittedly, film version of Draco, as
we very rarely see anything from a point of view differing from Harry’s in the
novels seems terrified of. In
the film, he looks almost disgusted with himself, unable to comprehend what he
has done. Months of hard work and time have led to this moment. This is what he had always dreamed of,
wasn’t it? A clap on the back,
and, easy as that, he had earned the respect of his fellow Death Eaters, his aunt
included, and, yet, he felt miserable, dirty, despicable.
And,
still, his task was incomplete. He
had succeeded in phase one, but phase two promised to be even more
difficult. Draco found his way to
the Astronomy Tower, where one of my absolute favorite scenes in all of the
seven novels takes place.
It
is one of my favorite scenes for several reasons. First we have arguably my favorite arguably the most
complicated male student in all of Hogwarts stuck in a room with the wisest man
in all of Harry Potter. Part of me okay, a lot of me was
intrigued to see how Dumbledore would read this situation. There’s no denying that Dumbledore knew
why Draco was there, to assume otherwise would be a great injustice to his
intelligence.
And
Rowling doesn’t hold back. She
gives me everything I want on this front.
A calm and collected Dumbledore talks Draco down. He tells him everything I wish I could
tell him. He isn’t a murderer—he
can be cruel, there is no denying that.
But he simply doesn’t have it in him to take the life of another,
especially not as kind of a soul as Dumbledore. The Headmaster also isn’t accusatory—Draco tells him his
life and the lives of his parents are at stake. Dumbledore understands completely and even offers him a way
out. A way Malfoy very nearly
takes—he lowers his wand a fraction—only to be interrupted at the least
opportune moment possible.
And
Harry. Stuck, watching,
waiting to see what will happen.
He is, of course, the other reason I adore this scene. The tension between all three of them
prior to the entrance of the Death Eaters is impeccably well written. I have no doubt that, had they gone uninterrupted,
and when Draco would’ve accepted
Dumbledore’s offer to hide them, Harry would’ve agreed with the Headmaster and
sought to help his old enemy, if perhaps a bit reluctantly so.
This
scene really shows Draco at his finest.
We see that, given the chance, he almost chooses the side of the
good. Some would argue he still could’ve chosen to side with
Dumbledore, after Snape had committed his act of salvation. I disagree. Once his aunt and the other Death Eaters had entered the
room, to turn on them would’ve meant his immediate death. And, while self-sacrifice may be the
Gryffindor way of things, it simply isn’t how things are generally done in
Slytherin.
Some would argue he should’ve
turned spy, just like his savior Snape.
This is true; this option was always open to Draco—although, with
Dumbledore gone, I’m not sure who Draco would’ve approached. As far as he had known, they were alone
in the Tower, which, of course, prompts the question of who would believe him
if he were to mention Dumbledore’s offer.
However, I’m not sure this is what really stopped Malfoy from
approaching the Order. In all
honesty, I never though he had quite the courage to do it.
Snape,
for all of his faults, is a very brave man. Draco, I will never deny, is a coward. He can be gutsy, standing up to members
of authority he doesn’t recognize as worthy of his time or their title. But he could never find the strength to
serve for both sides as Snape did.
I’m afraid, as much as my adolescent self searched and searched for some
form of courage hidden under his skin, it just isn’t there.
However,
as mentioned before, he does have guts.
When the Golden Trio are brought to his home and he is asked to identify
them, he may not have the bravery to do something active to help them escape,
but he buys them the time they need with three simple words. “It
might be.” I mean, come
on. The Golden Trio are incredibly
distinctive. Even with Potter’s
messed up face. It’s clear who has
been thrown on the floor of Malfoy Manor.
But, instead of selling them out, which would have earned him the
respect he lost by failing to kill Dumbledore, he misleads the Death Eaters in
the interest of protecting them.
Why
on earth would he seek to protect them?
From his point of view, they’ve done nothing but best him in their time
at school. What motivations could
he possibly have to show them any kindness now, when they most need it?
Personally,
I think Dumbledore’s whispering in his head. The old man gave him a chance that day, a chance he didn’t
have the opportunity to seize. He
knows what Dumbledore would want him to do and, while he doesn’t quite have the
courage required to see the action through, he can, at the very least, get them
started.
From Gary King to Nicholas Angel: Is Draco a good role model? The short answer?
No, definitely not. In a
series full of amazing, deep characters, Draco Malfoy isn’t one of them. That isn’t to say he isn’t complicated—God
Rowling knows he is. But, at his
very core, he is a coward. When he
does occasionally know the difference between right and wrong, he still fails
to have the moral bravery to see it through. He does speak his mind, even if what he has to say is
unconscionably cruel, which is admirable in a sense. I don’t know how many times I wished Ron would speak his
mind, or Hermione, for that matter; therefore, I can’t help but admire that
characteristic in Draco. However,
in his base form he’s prejudice, elitist and, I’d be willing to wager,
misogynistic. There’s a lot of
room for improvement in Draco. I’m
just not sure he’s willing to accept any help.
Role Model Rating:
2/10
From Peter Parker to Spider-Man: Is Draco relatable?
The task set to Malfoy serves to humanize him and makes him far more
relatable than he had ever been previously. I, of course, don’t mean to say that people are frequently
ordered to kill the administrators of their school. For the longest time, Draco dreamt that rising to the ranks
as a Death Eater would make his life magically easier. Unfortunately, shortly after Draco
receives his Mark, he is displeased to discover that no such magical solution
is coming. This, I think, is
highly relatable. We all dream
that this one thing is going to solve
all our problems and suddenly make everything wonderfully easier. Very rarely is that actually the
case. We, much like Draco, grow up
to discover that it just opens more doors, through which lie more difficult
challenges. This doesn’t
completely negate his elitist, upper class position, but it takes a step in the
right direction.
Relatability Rating:
5/10
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