Hey, guys, this is my first fanfiction so reviews would be great. It's told from Draco's POV.
I realised just how far down I had crashed when the very thing that I used called home is now the thing that I need to get away from. The gardens, that had once housed all my dreams were now the setting for my nightmares. The walls that had protected me from all the monsters outside were the ones that now trapped me with them. What was the point of having a house with four hundred and forty-two rooms if I felt like a stranger in every single one of them?
All that I had was the memories. But they aren't always enough. Most of the time they are the reason for your downfall. They were for me. The memories gave me hope. Hope that things would get better, that they would be the same as they used to be. But wishful thinking isn't helpful. Not when the monster that has claimed the ballroom can read your mind. Not when he knows exactly what to do to push you further into insanity. And when all the hope pays off, and I am finally free, it doesn't help. Because they were a bit too late. But that's the last conscious thought in my brain before it withers away, leaving only a shell behind.
Now, there's only a blank eyed, blonde haired, pale skinned boy taking up a bed in St. Mungos. Just another causality of war. And the only people who visit him are his parents. The very same ones who couldn't scare the monsters away from him when he needed it the most.