A/N: Please be gentle, this is my first Harry Potter fan fiction. The first chapter is in third person, the rest are in Draco's POV unless I decide to change that. I don't own Harry Potter, JKR does. I'm writing this purely for fun =] R&R greatly appreciated.

Chapter 001;; Loneliness Is A Blessing.

A young boy of about ten years old sat staring longingly at the sky. A single tear rolled down his innocent, cream-colored cheek as more threatened to spill from the tempest eyes. The sharp gray was unnaturally dull in the dark surroundings as he leaned against the black railing of the balcony. The doors, mahogany and glass, stood open to the cold November air behind him and the soothing dredges of light cast from a candle lit the inviting room nicely. However, the boy paid no mind to the warmth and comfort that room could very well seem to bring.

The boy had an unseen torment to him, his cherubic innocence mangled by pain and sorrow. The illusion of innocence dying was intensified by the boy's platinum blonde hair, sending off glittering hues of silver and gold from the incandescence of the moon and the flame. An icy beauty surrounded him, almost as cold as the frozen denial to allow him hope gleaming bitterly in the much too mature slate eyes. He shivered slightly, chilled through his emerald silk pajamas in the unforgiving air as snowflakes fell gracefully into place. Many nestled comfortably in the boy's eyelashes, the Muggle fable of Jack Frost may have instantly came to any mind of someone who cared enough to watch.

The boy's mind pondered this, though his miserable thoughts added as a direct result to the morose mood, No one does care enough to watch me. The boy sighed and leaned further over the railing, feeling coveted for once in the frozen arms of the dead winter. He sighed, a huff of steam falling from his lips and slowly swirling lazily into the snowflakes. The pristine stillness of the night took over him, steeling him into a living statue. His mind, once again a betrayal to the small fair-haired boy, whispered to the confines of his brain softer than the kisses of the frozen water falling to his skin. I might as well be made of ice. Maybe then I could be loved. I'd be beautiful and perfect, and my Father would be proud and Mum and him wouldn't yell.

Another tear fell from the boys' cheek, falling into the snow and freezing into another unique piece of pristine white. He stared down through his long lashes at the flakes in an interest only a young boy could muster. "Each one is so different, and yet… they are all the same."

Another sigh fell from the boy's lips, sending a puff of snowflakes into the black night air. The full moon danced beams of light in the small boys' eyes, claiming the gray as moon beams while the merry dance within could not match the boy's ever-saddening pose. His mind was still on dinner, where Father and Mum had looked upon him none too pleased. He had feared another hex, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Draco," the stern voice of Father cut through the solid silence, Draco's ears perking up. "Yes, sir?"

"Tomorrow you will begin your learning of Hogwarts. I want you informed of how the Slytherin house rules."

Draco gulped. He was Slytherin, no questions asked. Father had been drilling this fact into his brain since he could remember. Mum had joined in a bit too, though Father was more harsh. Still, Draco stayed silent. Mum sent father a pointed stare, and hissed softly, "Lucius, have you forgotten? I will not tolerate you hexing the boy for something that is no fault of his."

The boy... or 'it'. Never he, nor Draco, unless he was being directly spoken to of course. Draco was so used to it he barely felt the sting of not being wanted anymore. "Shut the bloody hell up, Narcissa."

Mum glared daggers. Father held a tone that was frighteningly calm, and uncannily reminded Draco of a firework- beautiful, yet dangerous. As what his tone was. "Now, I will send the elf up to get you at 6, so you can have breakfast, and then we shall meet in the parlor. Understood?"

Draco nodded and exclaimed, hiding his emotion as well as any ten year old boy could, "Yes, sir."

Father smirked, then sent a stinging hex toward the boy. Draco yelped, then ran out of the room, his eyes tearing but never spilling over.

The mere memory sent Draco's left hand to his right shoulder, absently touching the sore, stingy flesh with one hand. He let more silent tears fall to the fluffy white snow dusting the black metal beneath him, and he sniffed softly. A thought fleeted through his mind once more. I might as well be made of ice.

The thought made sense to the boy, after all. His skin was the envy of the snow surrounding him, and his hair had been pure white at birth. It had dulled to the platinum it was when he turned three. His frozen hands pressed against his cheeks and his solid heart ached. "Oh," Draco whispered to the night longingly, "If only I weren't made of ice. Maybe I wouldn't… Maybe I'd have…"

The boy paused, anger suddenly coursing through him. Maybe I wouldn't be alone? Maybe I might have a friend? Bollocks. He said aloud once more, his own voice startling him, "Loneliness is a blessing."

He removed his hands from supporting his cheeks, looking down at them. He watched as his polished nails dug into his palms when his long, slender fingers tightened into fists. An unruly sneer erupted across the boys' face, masking the boys' want for a companion and hurt despair. I'll make Father proud, even if I need to be a selfish, horrible git. His anger suddenly abated as he stood straight, confused. What am I angrier at? My father, or me?

He sighed, feeling light-headed and regretting the distant throb starting to beat just between his temples. He stumbled slowly into his room, crawling into his silver adorned bed and pulling the emerald covers over him. He yawned, and decidedly announced to his empty room, "I'm too young for all this headache."

At that, he let himself drift of to sleep, snow blowing in gently to caress his slightly rosy cheeks.

-oooo-oooo-

During the rigorous months leading to Draco's first step on to platform 9 ¾, Draco endured endless talks of how he would be disowned if he were not Slytherin, and of how the Weasleys were blood traitors, and how Mudbloods were an abomination to the wizarding world and should be avoided at all costs.

Often during these 'lessons', as Father had so called them, Draco would find himself daydreaming of a happier place and time. I wonder if I shall like anyone at school next year. I'm rather nervous. Draco's eyes would focus out of the window at the dull scenery of the courtyard, Fathers' ice voice freezing the room but not quite reaching the boy. These daydreaming sessions cost him dearly, earning him a slap, punch, or hex that would bruise and sting for days.

Father never tolerated being ignored, and soon Draco had Father's words imprinted on his brain as clearly as the tattoo on Father's arm.

The worst of these lessons, was December 20th. It was Draco's birthday, and the boy trudged around the house sadly until his Father called for him. He had come smiling, hoping for a small gift or a Chocolate Frog, at the very least. Father and Mum had never given him anything for his birthday, and hardly ever seemed to remember half the time. "You called for me, sir?"

"Come in, boy."

Well, he certainly looks virulent today. Draco shuddered at the dark look on Father's face. "What have you learned from our lessons?"

Draco swallowed and began tentatively, hardly able to mask his disappointment. "Well, sir. Mudbloods are blood traitors and are the bane of the wizarding world. Weasleys are blood traitors, and shall be avoided at all costs. Gryffindors are horrific little glory-stealing prats. Hufflepuffs are sheep who are too scared to do anything but cower. Ravenclaws are vicious and stupid, using their brains to over analyze their positions until stuck, and Slytherin is the only noble house, always full of just purebloods."

Father nodded, grimly. He seemed upset to have the boy not mess up. Draco stood awkwardly in front of the tall, intimidating man, trying hard not to stare at the black insignia on Fathers' left forearm and failing miserably. "What," Father hissed angrily, "are you staring at, boy?"

Draco gulped and answered back nervously, "Sorry, sir… Please, sir, I was- well, I didn't- uhm… er… Sir, what is that?"

He pointed at the Dark Mark adorning Father's arm. Father scowled and roared, "Do not ever ask of that again!"

Before Draco even had time to shrink away, he let out a loud cry as a spell hit between his shoulder blades. He instantly began to scream as white-hot pain doused him, boils spreading across his body and his stomach feeling all liquidy. Mum burst in and shouted, "Bloody hell Lucius! Are you trying to bloody kill it?"

The indignation in Mums' tone rose over Draco's sniffles and soft cries. "He's going to get pus all over the fucking carpet!"

Father rolled his eyes and snarled, "Get that pathetic whimpering piece of rubbish out of my sight before I do kill him."

Draco never felt more alone in his entire life, or more pain. Needless to say, the hex landed him in St. Mungo's, the wizarding hospital, for a straight month. They asked the boy who hexed him like that, but his lips stayed firmly shut. As much as a selfish, sadistic git his father was, Draco still loved him. And he would do anything, even be a sadistic, selfish git himself to win his Mum and Father's affections.