A/N: This is a Harry/Draco fanfiction, rated M so it'll have sex scenes later on. To a lesser extent it'll have Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione though the main pairing is drarry of course. Nothing racy in this chapter, just a bit of torture but nothing too graphic.

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to J.K Rowling. No monetary profit is made from this fic.

Enjoy

In the month after Voldemort's defeat, Draco often wondered if there was truly such a thing as 'winning' a war. He was given ample reason and time to wonder; there wasn't much else he could do, trapped with his head between his knees inside a crowded cell. Thinking was one of the few things that he was actually allowed to that's why it was a luxury to let his mind wander, even if it went places he didn't really wanted it to go.

Sometimes, he'd think about Severus - how unfair it had been for the man to die just as he had revealed whom his true loyalties lied with. Other times, Draco thought about Harry Potter - he despised it whenever he did. It always ended with a reminder of how pathetic he was. The gap between he in his cage and the Great Saviour whom traipsed on flowered streets was just to large to bridge. A feeling of envy would encroach his heart with the thoughts, followed by an overwhelming guilt darker than even the ministry's holding cells. Because was it not Potter who lost the most? Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Fred Weasely just to name a few.

Draco was one of the lucky ones: he only lost Severus.

It was for this reason that Draco felt nothing but dismay when the results of his trial came to him, revealing that the crimes of himself and his parents had been acquitted by the testimony of Potter, no less. He couldn't even act as though he felt gratitude. Contrary to the belief of the daily prophet, Draco had not knelt down to kiss the shoes of Harry Potter. That was Lucius - or at least, the man he had become. The only reason that the two were mistaken was because one of the guards had taken a knife to the elder's hair just before the trial. It was great fun, according to them.

The two feet of parchment that listed Draco's crimes were all acts that he could not deny committing, regardless of Potter's argument that they'd only been done under extreme duress. He cheated the world of a proper punishment against him. It was only a matter of time before the boy would be forced to give back what he had taken. All the lives, freedoms, futures...

So Draco feared. He waited for the punishment to come. And, at the hand of a man who cheated and lied to the world more than he, it did.

"This is all your fault…if only you had revealed that you knew it was Potter back then!" screamed Lucius Malfoy at the limp form suspended at the centre of a stone wall. The sounds his shouts accompanied by dripping blood echoed along the confined space. Another voice would have joined them as well…had it been loud enough to carry.

"…yes, Father," Draco murmured softly. He was trying to save his breath for more important things - like breathing.

"You're a taint on the Malfoy name! Your existence puts shame onto the great line of our ancestors!" spat Lucius.

"…yes, Father." Draco's eyes rolled around his head as he tried to focus on anything that could keep himself conscious. He knew this torture would end eventually. His father wouldn't dare try to kill him so soon after the trials nor with the ministry arriving in a week's time to claim the manor for war reparations. And, according to the Hogwarts letter that Draco was lucky enough to respond to before he was strung up, the blond's attendance was expected promptly on September 1st, nine days away if he had counted correctly. It was hard to tell when couldn't see the sun rise.

"If only you didn't exist, then we'd be able to keep our head up proudly like we were meant to…!"

This time, Draco didn't bother to grace his father with a response. The man was going off on a tangent again, spitting out manic accusations that blamed everybody but himself for the hell the Malfoys found themselves in. It wasn't really anything worth listening to though - Lucius Malfoy's mind had already broken beyond sane thought. Gone with the fall of the Dark Lord and the delusions of grandeur.

Draco felt his own mind go - wandering off to a place where his father couldn't follow him.

He played with thoughts of Pansy, Blaise, and Nott. Their neutrality had stayed strong behind the walls of Hogwarts despite the loyalties of their own parents. Were they alright? Draco knew Goyle wasn't. The boy would be spending his last year of schooling in Azkaban.

"…Are you listening?!"

Draco groaned as the manacles around his wrists were pried open roughly. His skin felt raw from where the metal had covered them, though he could make no move to nurse the injuries. He was too busy sliding down damp stone, crying out as pieces of gravel scratched and embedded themselves into the open lashes of his back. The moment his body hit the ground, his lungs racked with coughs as Draco retched up precious liquid that his father sorely reminded him was given only out of kindness. He could barely whimper even as his elder gripped his hair by the roots and dragged him across the gritty floor through the dungeon doors. It was almost a blessing when his consciousness began to leave him the moment they came across the staircase. Lucius had flipped him onto his back, ensuring that the strips of skin, stained and flowing with blood were aggravated even further with every step ascended. Obviously, the man no longer cared that his carpet stained.

The only reprieve the Malfoy heir received was when he was finally thrown back onto the ground. Cool hardwood pressed against his back, numbing it with a coolness that quickly faded. This was the sitting room, his thoughts provided. This was the place the Dark Lord had tortured his victims and now his own father was going to do the same. The irony would have made him laugh, had he not been so afraid.

The glass chandelier seemed to glare down at the boy menacingly, threatening to fall and crush him. Even the fireplace nor the worn antique furnishings held no warmth or comfort for Draco now: they were all a darkened shade of black or grey, their ornate swirls and decorations that had fascinated him in his youth now mocking as he laid on the dirtied ground.

Briefly, he wondered if this was how all Voldemort's victims felt like when they died here.

Hopeless, broken, and afraid.

"If only you didn't exist..if only you didn't exist…"

Draco's eyes moved to his father figure, observing as the man paced along the room. It was strange that he hadn't begun with the torture yet. Lucius Malfoy alway enjoyed it when they started. He never let his son wait long before beginning the next bout of 'blame the heir.'

"Merlin…Draco..!"

Narcissa Malfoy appeared into the room. Or maybe she had always been there and Draco hadn't bothered to notice. He hadn't been the most attentive lately...

Ignoring her husband's presence, the woman dropped to her knees by Draco's side, staining her familiar black dress with his blood. She was murmuring softly, though just loud enough for only Draco to hear.

"Salazar…! When he said he'd punish you, I didn't think…!"

Draco almost chuckled at her words. What the hell did she think Lucius would do? Tickle him silly?

"Narcissa!" Lucius snapped, forcing his wife into attention. "Have you finished everything?"

The Malfoy heir watched in fascination at how quickly the look of hatred flashed through his mother's face before it fell into the well-practiced mask that all Malfoys carried. He hadn't seen it in a while - his father seemed to have lost the ability. And Draco hadn't needed to bother. Darkness had always hidden his cringes of pain in the dungeons. And Lucius seemed to find pleasure most just by hearing his son scream.

"Yes, I've vanished everything pertaining to Draco inside the manor."

Lucius nodded in man's face was split with glee and he began to pace again, muttering to himself as he took out his wand. He glared at the piece of wood - it was an ugly little thing that he'd been forced to use ever since the Dark Lord had taken his original without the pleasantry of having it returned.

"I'll leave you some healing potions and my wand just outside the manor gates…when you wake up, you need to take them and go to Hogwarts." Narcissa whispered urgently into Draco's ear. "I'm sure you'll still have a place there, even after the spell!"

Draco muttered something unintelligible, the blood on his lips keeping them too sticky for his words to come out clearly.

"Narcissa, prepare yourself! Stand opposite to me on the other side of the boy!" Lucius ordered, shoving his wand in the general vicinity Draco's left. She obeyed without question, brandishing her own wand and point it at her son. The youngest Malfoy could barely register cold, white wisps of light surrounding him like a length of rope as it entangled his entire form until there was nothing left but a cocoon of smoke on the floor.

"Aevitas excido!"

The cocoon tightened, digging into his body and stabbing into every pore of his being. Draco choked as he writhed on the floor, his body and soul feeling as though they were torn apart. He could see his father grinning smugly down at him while his mother had the look of one who smelled something terrible. Another wave of pain shook him and Draco convulsed uncontrollably, his sight already gone. His hearing was the last to leave with the sound of his father's laughter echoing in his head.

When Draco awoke, he was cold and wet. It was a familiar feeling over the past week and the blond almost attributed it to blood and dungeons. But when he forced the crust out of his eyes with a few blinks, he didn't see black. He saw blue. If the boy had been free from the pain restraining his entire limbs and torso, a laugh would have surely fell from his lips. It was the sky. He was finally seeing the sky!

Draco tried to roll over. However, his back to what felt like mud and dirt, it was as though every movement buried pain deeper into the injuries of his back. He could only hope that worms or maggots hadn't caught scent of him yet.

With a pained gasp, Draco once again tried to flip himself over with minimal success. He landed on his ribs, his head burying deeper into mud until half his cheek was buried. It allowed him to view an empty field that he knew wasn't really empty. He reached a hand forward tentatively, his eyebrows scrunching at the feel of electricity jolting him away. Yes, these were the wards of Malfoy manor. And yes, they were rejecting him; he, the heir of the Malfoys. At least, he hoped he was still the heir.

"…Merlin…! Fucking..!" he let his voice out with a gritty rasp, putting greater effort in trying to stand. In the distance, he spotted a small, black, velvet bag and the image of his mother wavered then disappeared in his brain. He crawled along the mud and dirt, gasping with every inch until the bag was in his hands. Not a moment was wasted until the contents were dumped unceremoniously onto the ground: it was bottomless by the amount of galleons that fell out. However, Draco ignored the trickle of gold, choosing to grasp a glass vial that he knew to contain a healing potion. He struggled with the stopper, long minutes passing before the taste of liquid graced his lips.

A shuddering breath left him as his throat burned with the potion. However, the moment in settled in his stomach, he could already feel its magic began to work. His back was beginning to stitch, and the dryness of his throat had gone when the potion had touched it. Also, his wrists were no longer raw from the chains. Draco downed another one, uncaring that the proper dosage was one potion per four hours. The feeling of his muscles and flesh sewing themselves together was paradise to him now, and even when he felt his eyes droop and his head begin to fall again, he couldn't find the energy to care.

When he woke up again, it was night. And just as before, Draco was cold and tired. However, this time, his body allowed him to stretch out, free of any other injuries except for the strain of sleeping outdoors. He could feel the dirt caking his face and hair, and, looking down at his clothing - a black dress shirt and matching trousers - which he had first worn almost two weeks ago. They were in a right mess: stained with dried blood and vomit. However, rather than cleaning it immediately as he would have before the war, Draco simply sat with his eyes closed, revelling in cold freedom. He let minutes pass him, ten, then twenty before he finally opened his eyes to his surroundings. The pile of galleons still laid beside him, but he dug through it to find the other item his mother promised him. A wand.

Draco recognized the black wood and handle. It was his mother's. An easy observation since his own was still in the hands of the great Harry Potter and no Malfoy was allowed to purchase a new one. Gripping it in his hand, Draco pointed it to the air, murmuring a single incantation.

"Priori Incantato."

White words floated out of his wand, spelling out its last used spell.

Aevitas Excido.

Perish thy existence.

On the first of September, 1998, Harry Potter stood with pride at the entrance overlooking the Great Hall. The repairs on the castle were just about done, except for few rarely used spots on the upper floors. They had predicted a two year wait before Hogwarts was capable of reopening, yet here they were, less than six months later in a newly restored Great Hall. And bloody hell was Harry proud.

"Harry!"

The Wizarding world's saviour turned behind him, smiling at seeing Ron and Hermione skip into the room hand in hand. Usually, he'd pretend to gag at their blatant signs of affection, but the occasion didn't call for it. A crowd of students both new and old were beginning to enter the newly reopened Great Hall from behind them. They shuffled through the doors, first years gathering at the centre to be sorted while the rest of them dispersed into random tables. While the house system still existed, the school board had agreed that it was best to use the hall as a universal common room, free from the segregation of the houses. Now, only the Hogwarts emblem were hanged on the walls.

Harry took the closest table to himself, waiting until both his friends were seated at each of his side before beginning to speak. His head was tilted upwards, examining the sky that they had only got working to sparkle and change the other day. Fascination was evident in his eyes despite having seen this view repeatedly over the past seven years.

"We're finally back, aren't we?" said Harry as he turned his head to watch the students enter. Both of his friends smiled back at him.

"Well, Harry, we were here yesterday…" began Ron before he was nudged in the ribs by his girlfriend. He grunted with dissatisfaction, though he threw Harry a wink.

"Ron! That's not what he meant!" Hermione chastised, turning to the brunet and smiling. "Yes, Harry, it feels good to be back, doesn't it?"

Harry's eyes lit up when plates began to appear before them, following the first feast of the year. However, before he could begin eating, the new Headmistress raised her hand from the top of her podium, signalling all to attention.

"Today is a glorious day," McGonagall started. "Today marks the reopening of Hogwarts and the start of a first step forward after the sorrowful and difficult events of last year. However, we've survived both for our own sakes and the sakes of those we love not simply for the future but for the past to remember and commemorate all those who we've lost in the war. And now here we are among good food, good company with the promises of a good future! Thank you. We'll commence with the sorting in a moment."

Harry clapped as first years began to bundle together, awaiting in anxiety as the sorting hand begun to sing. The group of children entering the school was much smaller than all his years prior, no doubt because of the reputation that Hogwarts had as the resting place of so many students. Surely time would fix that with the passing years, but for now, the brunet would bask in the fortunes that he had left. His losses during the war had given him a protective edge towards those around him and a new appreciation to the ones who took his hand when all he'd desired was to fall and disappear from the world.

"Looks like hardly any Slytherins came back." Harry heard Ron say. He turned to glance at the former Slytherin table. Even though the designated seats no longer existed, many sought what was familiar and chose the table that had once belonged to their houses. There, he saw Parkinson, Zabini and Nott seated close together. They were the only eighth years he recognized to have returned. Strangely though, there was a gap between Parkinson and Zabini, as though someone else was meant to sit there. More likely though, the two students had a falling out and decided to put space between each other. Harry shook away from the thought to turn back to Ron. "Yeah, I heard a lot of them transferred to Durmstrang this year."

"Good riddance, I'd say! I can't believe the three of them had enough bollocks to stay. Their parent were death eaters, weren't they?" replied Ron. "Especially that Parkinson bint - didn't she try to turn you in to the Dark Lord?" Harry chose not to nod nor shake his head at his friend's words. Rather, he just glanced back at the empty space between the Slytherins. It was giving him an odd feeling.

"Harry!"

The brunet was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of a girl's voice. He turned to see Ginny run over to him, squishing herself between him and her brother as she threw her hands around his neck.

"I missed you so much, Harry!" she cooed. "You've hardly come to visit me during the summer break!"

The girl's hair fell over his face and he felt suffocated. "It's great to see you too…Ginny." Harry smiled weakly, peeling her arms off of him as he delicately placed the redhead back onto the seat. Ron snickered at him over a mouthful of chicken wings. He was almost glad when Luna stood up from another part of the table to call the girl over. She gave Harry a peck on his lips before going over to the other girl.

"Really, I can't believe how dense she is," Ron said with a full mouth. "Even I can see how uncomfortable she's making you. Let her off light though, alright mate?"

Harry gave out another half-hearted smile while Hermione sent her boyfriend a look that said: 'Ronald Weasely, you are just as dense as your sister.' But of course, the redhead didn't pay enough attention to see.

Reaching a hand out towards the trays of food on the table, Harry began to pile his own set of mashed potatoes and chicken onto his plate. He pulled out a few treacle tarts as well, placing them by his cutlery.

"Well, she's not exactly making it easy for me, is she?" Harry said, starting to shovel food into his mouth. "She's been jumping me every chance she gets without giving me a moment to open my mouth."

"She'd probably be more amiable about letting you talk if she'd have her own mouth around something else."

The brunet almost choked, thanking his lucky stars that it had only been mashed potatoes heading down his throat. His eyes were wide as he turned to his best mate, not believing what the man had dared to say about his own sister. However, the red head's mouth was already occupied with a slice of ham in the midst of mechanical digestion. There was no way he could have made the comment without food flying everywhere. And seeing how Harry's face was free of everything but a light stubble...

With a crane of his neck, Harry turned towards the hall, looking for whomever spoke. However, there were only a group of first years, timidly looking for their own seats around the tables and it was rather unfathomable that they would say such a thing. He was just about to turn back to his meal when his eyes wandered back to the former Slytherin table and the now occupied spot between Parkinson and Zabini. A blond boy sat there, crouched in his seat as he picked up one of Zabini's forks and transfigured it into a plate. He then turned to Parkinson, stealing one of her spoons before digging into the feast.

Strangely, the two didn't seem to react to the thefts. In fact, the way they were conversing with each other over the boy's head, as though he wasn't there at all. Harry lifted his head to try to see what house insignia was on the boy's robes. His tie and hood were completely black. Harry turned to Hermione.

"Hermione?"

"What is it, Harry?" replied the brunette.

"McGonagall didn't introduce any transfer students while I wasn't paying attention, did she?" he asked as he turned back to stare at the blond. No one else would have dared sit with the Slytherins due to their reputation this year, yet the boy had sidled in between them as though he'd always belonged.

"No, she didn't. Why do you ask?" she said, curiosity peaking. She placed her cutlery down as she tried to follow the direction of Harry's gaze.

"Well, there." said Harry as he pointed towards the Slytherins. "That blond there, I don't recognize him. Do you?"

"Nott?" Hermione turned an incredulous eye to her friend. "He and the other two have practically spent the last seven years making your life hell. How do you not recognize him, he hasn't changed all that much."

Harry shook his head. "No, not him. The one between Parkinson and Zabini" He pointed again, keeping the gesture shorter this time so the blond wouldn't notice. However, Hermione just shook her head right after him, the look of incredulity turning into one of worry.

"Harry, there's no one there." Hermione raised her hand to feel his forehead. "Are you seeing things, Harry? Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?"

Harry slapped her hand lightly, frowning. "Relax, Hermione. I'm fine. Maybe I'm imagining things." He turned away from the Slytherin table, taking up his spoon to shovel more potatoes into his mouth. The gesture seemed to calm the bushy-haired girl enough for her to hark at him for his manners. However, his heart had already begun to race at the thought of seeing something no one else could. It reminded him of second year with the Basilisk within the walls; but, Voldemort was long dead along with any of his snakes, Harry was certain. He glanced back at the Slytherin table to watch the three eighth years up and exit their table, leaving the blond to play with his meal. For a moment, Harry almost agreed that perhaps he was hallucinating. He didn't want to risk it though - knowing his luck, the boy could be a mass murderer hidden in plain sight.

And Harry wouldn't allow any more people to die at Hogwarts.

Draco almost thought Potter was staring at him. Picking at his meal, the blond watched as his trio of friends left his side to go down to the dorms. He'd have felt like following them, but the weight of self-pity was keeping him down. So instead, Draco stabbed at his vegetables, knowing no one would be able to see him. Not Potter, not anyone.

The moment after Malfoy - no, he wasn't a Malfoy any longer, not after the spell - had done Priori Incantatem, he had apparated to Diagon alley. The plan in his head was to use the Hogwarts library to find out what the spell was but first he'd needed supplies. His haggard trousers and shirt were beyond any hope for repair. Yet, the moment Dracp stepped into Madam Malkins, he was ignored; his existence utterly rejected. Even when he'd shouted and waved his hands at them, their eyes didn't even flicker. He could see his reflection in the glass and mirrors, yes, but no one else seemed to. And whenever he tried to touch people, it was as though a magical barrier rejected him, warding everyone from contact. If people got too close to him, the same barrier pushed him back - out of their way.

He was able to touch things though, depending on his intent. If he intended to destroy something, the same barrier prevented him to. If he tried to touch something that belonged to someone else, then he couldn't. However, if he tried to touch something that no one would notice disappear, then he could. Like Pansy's soup spoon and Blaise's fork. Pansy hated soup since she'd always spill it on her shirt. And Blaise was always in favour in discreetly shovelling food into his mouth like a Neanderthal.

The only place in Diagon alley that Draco could bring items out with him had been the junk shop: the shop where nothing belonged to anyone. He'd been able to pick out a few robes and shirts that had obviously because left there because their owners had outgrown them. He engorged them to fit. Of course, by doing so he had drastically thinned out the fabric; but all he had to do was stay indoors during winter and he'd be fine.

If his schoolmates could see him now, Draco did not doubt that he'd be considered the laughing stock of the entire school population. That was the sole reason he was grateful for his invisibility, if only to keep his pride intact. Other than that though, Draco could only count the days it would take for him to go insane. He'd had rifled through the library's restricted section, finding the spell that he knew affixed him and Draco knew that would be the end result.

Aevitas Excido.

Also known as the child disappearing curse, or more popularly known among pure blood circles as the heir erasing spell. Only capable of being performed on an individual under consent of both parents. Said parents would have twelve hours to undo it before the spell turned on the castors as well, erasing the memories of their eldest child. Last used by purebloods a century ago to erase an heir that had caused grave shame to his family.

And now last used by the parents of Draco Malfoy. However, it hadn't completely erased him as it was supposed to. The reason was Draco's guess. He was leaning towards the thought that his mother had not been completely willing to cast the spell thus, keeping the magic from causing him to disappear. It only threw him into a place worse than hell.

Draco gripped the spoon in his hand, throwing it across the hall in anger. It bounced back on the cursed barrier, slamming into his chest and falling harmlessly to his lap. Why? Why couldn't his mother just taken him and ran instead of agreeing to his father's madness? Could the woman not fathom any other way? Of all the options that had been available to them….Draco knew there weren't many, not since the war anyways.

Had his mother taken him, where would they go? The Ministry would have rejected them; sent them back into the hands of the madman. Mother's Black family vaults had longed merged with the Malfoy ones thus they would have been left practically knutless. And father had many ways to find them - especially seeing as Draco had been his heir. Blood would always find blood.

Draco resisted the urge to scream in the middle of the crowded hall. Even if he was invisible, it didn't mean he'd act like an animal without an ounce of decorum. Instead the blond opted to stride brilliantly out the doors. It was everyone else's loss if they couldn't see. Behind him, his plate transfigured itself back to its original form. No one noticed that it had ever been changed.

Draco headed towards the stair well. The blond had taken nest in one of the sixth floor classroom, unused as it was. He had transfigured the desks into a double bed, complete with an accompanying sofa and night table. He'd kept one desk and chair for his own use, making the once dusty room into a comfortable abode. It was easier than waiting at the doors of the Slytherin dorms for someone to come by so he could enter.

Draco sighed, leaning against the rail of the stone staircase. He had great plans to lie in bed for the night, hoping that the nightmares wouldn't come in his sleep. If they did, Draco predicted his mind wouldn't even last 'til Christmas.

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