A/N: Another one shot. This time focused around Draco Malfoy, and the effect that the war has on him, and how Astoria helps to heal him.
I never usually write song-based stories, but this and Clouds (another one-shot inspired by the song by Joni Mitchell, focusing on Luna Lovegood) have both been inspired by songs. This one is inspired by the song "The Sound of Silence", by Simon and Garfunkel. It is one of my mother's favourite songs, and when I read the lyrics, Draco came to my mind, and here you have it.
I own neither Harry Potter, by JKR, nor The Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel.
…
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping in,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
-The Sound of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel)
…
The nights were always the hardest.
First, came the darkness. As the sun slowly crept its way further down the horizon and the moon became stronger, brighter and clearer, darkness sprang from everywhere. It oozed out of the shadows underneath the furniture and it crept in through the window-panes, slowly eclipsing the light feebly emanating from artificial sources, until, finally, his world was plunged into blackness. The darkness brought back too many painful memories. In his lifetime, he had lived through some of the blackest evenings in existence, and that had left several scars. Each night that the darkness descended, a new memory would be re-discovered, that he would slowly and painfully have to relive. The night on the Astronomy Tower. The gatherings of Death Eaters in his childhood home every evening. The night of the Battle – the night he lost one of his best friends.
And then, came the dreams. If the darkness brought a painful memory to the forefront of his mind, then his dreams would twist it, amplify it, and make it even more unbearable than it already was. The screams would rise to deafening levels, the words of pleading would tear apart his heart and his own ignorance would be emphasised to such a level that he began to hate himself. And every night, without fail, he would awake, dripping with sweat, his throat sore from screaming and pray that morning would arrive sooner. The dreams did not lessen over time. It had been ten long months since the defeat of Voldemort and, if anything, they had gotten worse. It was almost as though it was some sort of hungry, malicious monster who revelled in darkness and his own pain, to whom these nightmares were ammunition, making him more powerful and twisted than before.
No matter what it was, Draco always longed for morning and daylight.
They were making him despise his very existence. As he lay down every night, ready to face another night of endless horrors, the visions and memories would surround him, and whisper to him, reminding him of unpleasant things that he desperately wanted to be permanently erased from his memory.
Like old friends, the evil thoughts would greet him every night and remind him of the person he used to be, and the thoughts he used to think.
Thoughts he had had far before he had ever been branded, some from even before his return.
Like when he was an innocent and arrogant first year, who wanted nothing more than to be the most popular boy in the school, who wanted nothing more than just a slice of the glory and fame that Potter had. And assured himself that he would do absolutely anything to try and be powerful and successful. Anything.
Like when, after his return, his father informed him of what was going to happen. Father told him that Voldemort had returned, revered, powerful and respected Voldemort. And Father said that there were two sides: the losers and the winners. The losers who were filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods alike, who believed that we should unite and associate with filth. The winners, Lord Voldemort's shining, glorious band of followers who's blood was as pure as could be, and who were real wizards. And Draco actually became happy to call himself one of the winners, and actually believed in blood supremacy for a while. And where had that outlook got his Father? A cold lonely cell in Azkaban.
And, most poignant and distressing of all, when he was first accepted into the band of Death Eaters and was given his Mark. He had actually felt proud at first. Proud to be a part of this group, and ready to fight. And his special mission had, for one dark, gloomy moment actually excited him. The prospects of seeing the "batty vermin-loving fool" dying actually made Draco feel happy for one terrible moment.
Each night without fail, these very thoughts would flitter eerily around his room, whispering possibilities of regaining his popularity and power with becoming to his old self. They would plant ideas in his mind, and encourage them to grow, making Draco into the ignorant, wrongly led boy he once was. Each night, these thoughts of returning the Malfoy name to its former glory threatened to be embraced, and the darkness that had once consumed him threatened to grow larger and larger, until it was bigger than before.
These whispers returned every night. And each morning he would awake, after dreams filled with screams and explosions and a cold, high voice, his ears ringing with the sound of silence.
His days were very silent now. He rarely left the Manor, and his mother was the only person who he regularly talked to. After the noisiness of the war, silence became something of a haven to him, reminding him that he could live the rest of his years in peace. But soon, the silence became too much. He would awake every morning, his ears ringing with the sound of silence.
Eventually, his life became too empty and too lonely.
But then she arrived. And she held him, and she made the darkness feel less intimidating, and her laughter drove the whispers away, and her warm arms helped him become free of the nightmares that entombed him, and her beautiful voice replaced the sound of silence.
Now, as night approaches, he doesn't dread it like he used to. Because he knows that no matter what horrors penetrate his dreams, he will awake each morning to her clear, soothing voice and her gentle, compassionate love. And as they lie together, and the whispers flit in and out of the room, the thought of her is enough to make Draco immune to their softly whispered temptations.
Because he realises that she is all he needs.
And slowly, ever so slowly, the whispers faded away, until they became nothing but a mere memory.
And slowly, ever so slowly, Astoria Greengrass made the nights more bearable.
And slowly, ever so slowly, Astoria Greengrass made Draco Malfoy's life feel worth living again.