A/N: This idea came to me in the middle of study hall while I was listening to Home by Ellie Goulding. This chapter hasn't been beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
On my own
No poison in my bones.
On my own
This is where I built my home.
Home
By Analya-Goddess of Emotions
He hated it. The monster that he was forced to call "lord" had invaded his one sanctuary: his home. It was the place where he could escape society. He didn't have to act like he was better than anyone; he didn't have to keep that blank mask on his face. It was special to him. He grew up there, even if he didn't have the most loving family there with him.
His father drank. The man would never touch a glass of wine when he was out in public, but at home, it was his favourite pass time. The stronger, the better. The constant drinking led to violence and beatings. Often, the son found himself hiding in his room, clutching his only stuffed animal tightly to his chest. The little stuffed dragon had been his best friend, even through his Hogwarts years.
His mother loved him, but not as much as she loved herself. Her name was very fitting, with the meaning of self-love. Yes, she would comfort him when he was younger during the times when his father was violent, but as he grew older, she drew away, believing that she could take care of himself without her help. It only drew him further inside himself.
Sure, he had pureblood "friends", but it was more for formalities and business than anything else. No, his only real friend through his childhood was the stuffed dragon that he had with him since he was born. It had shiny dark green scales and silver eyes, a depiction of the muggle stereotype. But that didn't matter to him. He loved the dragon more than anything else. It would listen when he ranted, let him cuddle when he cried, and stayed with him while he hid under his bed from his father. It was that dragon that kept him sane when he had been tortured for not being the one to kill the headmaster, and when Death Eater cast the Cruciatus on him for fun. It's what kept him from succumbing to evil.
Even through these lonely times, he still wouldn't choose somewhere else to grow up. Digging through the bad memories there were still the gems that made his life worthwhile. Like the time when he rode his first broomstick. It was wonderful to feel the wind in his hair and the freedom of being off the ground. When he flew, it felt as though no one could ever touch him – ever touch him again. It was moments like that that made his childhood at the manor worthwhile.
When his "lord" had begun to occupy his home, he could feel the darkness seeping in. There was always a threatening chill in the air. His emotional mask was up at all time in case he ran into a Death Eater. He couldn't cry at the loss of his home – not even his room felt safe to him anymore. It wasn't his home. Instead, it had become a prison. And even after the monster had been killed, the presence remained.
That was why he could never return home.