A fist collides with the younger Malfoy's cheek.
"You will pay for embarrassing me boy!" his father screamed.
The boy, only 17, is crumpled on the floor. A scattering of bruises mar his body. His icy blonde hair is stained with his blood. His cool, gray eyes are closed, wincing in his pain.
With one last kick, Lucius Malfoy retreats to his study. The young boy moans, but surprisingly, a smile graces his thin lips. He stands upwards shakily. Limping to the closet he pulls out his trunk. Peaking in on his mother, who is sleeping in a kitchen chair, an empty bottle of sherry laying in her lap, he whispers "Goodbye".
Draco Malfoy stepped outside of his elegant manner and walked to the edge of the grounds, almost a mile away, the whole time dragging his heavy trunk behind him. He waved his wand in the air, and not 10 seconds later The Night Bus screeches to a halt in front of him. He pays for his ticket and slumps in a lumpy bed near the back. He is asleep before the bus takes off.
The next month Draco stays at the Leaky Cauldron, in and out of a drunken stupor. Finally, September 1 comes around and he leaves the dingy motel for Hogwarts, his home away from home, and the only person he can trust. His godfather, Severus Snape.
Arriving at Platform 9 3/4 he looks around for his "friends." Someone taps him on the shoulder. He looks around to see Vincent Crabbe, the muscle behind the Malfoy wit. Accompanying him is Gregory Goyle and Pansy, his on again off again girlfriend. Pansy laced her hand into his and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her dark hair is in a loose bun, piled on her head with a few wisps breaking free. She has on a very low cut white top and short black skirt, showing off her assets. But, one would expect such of a person worthy of the desires of a Malfoy.
The train ride to the castle was uneventful. He was contentedly sipping a whiskey in the corner, enjoying the hazy feeling it gave him. He vaguely remembers an encounter with the Golden Trio. He murmured something about Scarheads and Mudbloods. Probably mentioned the lack of wealth of the Weasel family. Pansy was talking animatidly with a girlfriend across from him and Crabbe and Goyle were out somewhere, probably beating up Hufflepuffs. Draco felt the warmth in his stomach that the whiskey gave him.
The next month he spent falling in a downward spiral. He was still showing up for class and completing the homework, but it was often sloppy and incomplete. His eyes were constantly bloodshot and he was known to snap at anyone for any reason, including his fellow Slytherins. It was a Saturday night and Draco was already drunk. He was especially upset because he had had an argument with Pansy and, in the heat of the moment, had backhanded her. She had broken up with him and he had no one to take the anger out on. He staggered out of the common room, intent on finding someone to beat up.
After an hour of searching he still had not found anyone to vent his frustrations. He stumbled over near the library. His eyes lit up. The mudblood was just exiting, her nose buried in some book or another...ah, yes. Nothing would please him more than to beat up the mudblood...