I am alone.
So alone.
All that I have ever had is gone. My father, in Azkaban. My house, inhabited by the ones I hate most, but dare not go against. My life, ripped to shreds.
I am nothing.
I mean nothing.
I feel nothing. Nothing, that is, but anger and sadness.
This trap, it ensnares me, pulling tighter and tighter around my neck, until now I can barely breathe, it is so tight. I am going to suffocate.
I must escape.
Must…escape…
But how?
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Draco sat on his bench, the bench at the farthest corner of the gardens, the bench that could not be seen from the manor.
He was alone.
But that was not surprising. He was alone all the time now. Even among people, dozens of people, he was alone. Everywhere he went, he was alone.
The Dark Lord treated him like a house elf. Worse than a house elf. Draco had always built his life on his pride. His pride in the facts that he was richer, that he had a better father, that he was a pureblood.
But where had all these lead him?
The Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord was slowly tearing everything away from him. His house, his family, his pride, his life. He was beyond anger. Hopeless was more like it. Hopeless anger. Not that he could ever voice his opinions. Nothing could ever change. He was stuck. And alone.
How Draco hated that word, and even more, that feeling! The feeling of being unwanted, unneeded. He had never been alone. People had always, always been there. He hadn't really even noticed them…that is, until now. When he needed them most. Once they had been as plentiful as air, his supporters. Now there were as scarce as compliments.
He could count how many compliments he had received in the last month on one finger. He didn't even need that finger.
All his good fortune had flown away like the birds, who had gone for the winter. A cool breeze floated suddenly by, and Draco shivered violently. He hadn't even noticed that he was cold. Freezing in fact. He hadn't thought of a coat, winter though it was. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care.
He looked up at the tree whose shadow he rested under. It looked dead, all its leaves long gone. But on the inside it pulsed with life.
He was the opposite. He was dead inside.
So why not be dead on the outside?
This thought struck him so suddenly. He was not needed. Not wanted. Not noticed. It would be so easy…it would be an escape. Then he'd never have to care again.
It sounded so wonderful, Draco felt incredibly stupid that he had never thought of it before. Escape. Swift and sweet. So sweet. It wouldn't make much difference to anyone else. He wasn't wanted…
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. To be done. Be over. No problems, no worries, no…nothing.
Out of nowhere, a bird flew by Draco and alighted on the tree. Draco was startled, not only by its sudden appearance, but because it seemed so happy. How could it be happy? It was winter. Birds hated winter. It was cold and unforgiving.
Just like the Dark Lord, Draco thought suddenly. He looked curiously at the bird. The bird opened its mouth and sang. It wasn't any special song, but it struck something in Draco. He hadn't heard birdsong in so long…come to think of it, he hadn't really heard anything in a long time. Anything besides hushed voices and loud commands. Cursing, too. He heard a lot of that.
As he watched. The bird flew on, finished with its song. Draco felt sad. He had liked that bird. As he watched the receding dot, he realized something. If that bird could sing in a time usually reserved for sadness and quiet, so could he. He could move on. It would be over someday.
And he did just that. Humming a bright tune whose words he'd long forgotten, Draco got off his bench and walked towards the manor. He was going to face whatever lay ahead with spirit. He was still Lucius' son, right? He was going to be proud. No one, not even the Dark Lord was going to change that.
He walked away from that bench feeling light and spirited. Those were two emotions he hadn't felt in ages.
He walked with his head high. So used was his neck lately to groveling that the muscles were a bit sore. But Draco didn't care about that. He had some pride still left in him. That was encouraging. He wasn't as empty as he had thought. Maybe not totally full of life, but not totally empty, either.
He walked with new eyes. Everything he saw now reminded him of new beginnings, not ends.
He walked with hope. Something that he had thought had long deserted him now filled every ounce of his body.
And, most importantly, he walked with happiness.
Things were going to turn out okay.