Madness of a Mutant: Draco falls a little deeper into depression, glaring at the muggles in white who keep telling him he was never a wizard. He was just sick… his whole culture was just sick. One-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or X-Men.

Image: Alchemy by Applesin

Rating: Teen

…

Falling like a thousand leaves.

There goes my dreams,

My sanity.

…

Draco shivered, wondering if he should pull the starch white covers closer or not. The temperature was technically fine but this place just felt … cold.

He hated these people with their white clothes and white shoes, their metallic tools, false smiles, and … armed guards. And it was too clean. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be had in this horrible white place. Why did muggles have to have everything so white, so clean?

If he didn't know any better he'd think they were over using cleaning spells.

Not that they believed in magic. They just thought he was mad, that the entire population of witches and wizards were a collection of mad blokes that had made a secret underground society over the centuries.

He was not insane and if he had a wand he'd show these muggles their place. Not that he thought if he even had one that it would work.

He cringed at the reminder. In truth, it had been painless really, just a pin prick as the healer muggle (a doctor was the proper term he believed) said it would be when she pressed the needle under his skin. He had fought and kicked and lashed out when they had caught him. He still was completely baffled as to how they had managed that. All he knew was that there was this machine called Cerebro that seemed to know where people were.

One can only apparate so much before growing exhausted.

He never thought a muggle could seem frightening, even with their guns, but the way those men in black moved so efficiently without even a word had been wolfish. Even when he had been shot, it was like he had taken a sleeping draught, surreal even. Yet, when he woke, it wasn't a dream. There were hoards of witches and wizards and … half-breed muggle things and seemingly normal muggles being ushered into a military building of sorts, being stripped of their possessions and strapped to beds.

Most weren't even awake when the shot, the cure as it was called, was administered.

The magic in his blood had healed him fast, but not enough to rip off the restraints to stop the same fate from happening to him. It had seemed like nothing at first, the pin prick, but slowly he found he couldn't feel the warmth that had always been in his blood. It took him a day or so to recognize what had happened.

His magic was gone.

He screamed himself hoarse until one of the healer muggles suddenly administered another pinprick and he had fallen asleep.

After that, knowing what was done, he hadn't the energy to scream… or eat… or much of anything. He just lay there. It wasn't a Slytherin trait to just give up. The House was a label that meant power in both breed and want, but he was no longer of a notable breed, his blood soiled. He no longer had any power.

A good snake knows when to lie down and die.

Not that they would let him. The muggles couldn't even leave well enough alone. First, they had defiled him with the intent to destroy his wizarding ways, and then they thought it was kind to keep him alive. Yes, he had stopped eating and no longer made a sound, but that was what dying animals did. They lay down to die.

Muggles have no concept of acceptance. They merely press a tube down your throat and put some straight dressed fool to sit by your bedside, asking why you did it?

Were muggles truly so draft in the head that they had no mental concept as to why?

"Patient 1160. Come now. They'll have to force feed you again if you refuse to eat. After all of the mu-"

"Don't say that word! That's all I've heard of for the last few weeks," growled Draco as he balled his hands into fists, ruining the straight landscape of the blankets that covered him on the bed. He would have rather sat up to threaten the muggle but he was restrained to the bed for his own 'welfare'. So he decided the most he could do was ignore anyone that came to talk to him, and the best way to do this was to stare at the ceiling tiles.

Continuing his low growl, he exclaimed with spitting venom, "I am a wizard! We are wizards … don't confuse us with those things."

The man in the white coat with his writing pad turned to look at a child with purplish skin. The youth's skin was so thick that they were having trouble getting a needle through it. There were other ways of course.

The counselor shifted his glasses a little higher on his nose and stated, "Now, 1160. We need to talk about…"

"My Name is Draco Malfoy! Stop calling me that you idiotic bigot!" yelled Malfoy who might have started thrashing if he hadn't noticed that he had gained the attention of a nearby guard. The butt of those guns hurt, and he did not care for the muggle healers to try and wrap his head up like a mummy again … And to barbarically sew him up like a common sweater.

The man nodded instead of becoming insulted, his pen moving far too quickly for Draco's liking. That scribbling sound irked him for some reason.

"Yes, yes. Draco it is then. You have no birth record or identification so all we had was…"

"Of course I wouldn't! I wasn't born in some horrid muggle hospital! I'm a pureblood, not a mudblood!" yelled Draco caring little if he gained the guard's attention now.

The scribbler didn't even look up, nodding as he added, "Yes, yes. Mudblood is the name for a muta-," Draco nearly howled, "uh… wizard that was born to normal people, yet you only accept ones that have like abilities and looks. It is a truly interesting concept in your culture, praising only one genetic abnormality. In fact, families that bred in accordance to this genetic trait were called purebloods while normal children from such families were called squibs."

Draco glared, hissing, "Stop trying to explain magic through your muggle scientific rubbish! It has nothing to do with genes or your x-gene problem as you call it! Voldemort should have killed all of you filthy muggles when he had the chance."

The documenter stalled in his writing, his gold name tag glinting Dr. Krells. Krells couldn't help but state, "Oh, you said his name. Voldemort. Yes, a truly interesting case for your cultural acceptance. He had a noticeable snake-like mutation and yet your culture accepted him as one of their own. A very negative figure, I must say with how he killed so many people. They say that he must have had some very powerful mutations to actually revive…"

That was it. He could take no more of this draft idiot's words.

"It wasn't a mutation! It was magic! We are not mutants! We are witches and wizards! Stop stating I have an x-gene! I am a wizard! A WIZARD!" yelled Draco as he suddenly started thrashing with every word. Krells merely sat there though. There was an almost bored expression on his face as if he had seen this kind of fit a thousand times. He even patiently waited for the blond to tire himself out, Draco finally collapsing on his bed.

The drugs were strong.

Pushing his glasses back up, frowning, the man asked with a glint in his eyes, "Then tell me, Mr. Malfoy. Why has the cure worked on your wizarding population just like it has for every other mutant in England?"

Draco's eyes went wide and he moved his mouth, his throat suddenly feeling dry. There were no words to be found… t-that had to be wrong.

"I'll tell you why," stated Krells as he rose to his feet, "because wizards and witches are nothing more than mutants. Your mutation, just as with many other secondary mutants, has been passed down through the genetic code. There is no such thing as magic. You are just a freak… or at least were. The cure fixed that, didn't it?"

Draco swallowed, misery heavy in his chest once again. Not that the counselor noticed.

"Now Mr. Malfoy, I expect next time I come to talk to you, you will be more hospitable, because I don't know if the full weight of the situation has settled in," continued Krells in a ire tone, "but as your culture would label it: you are nothing but a muggle now. It's best to learn how to live like one and obey the rules of your government."

Even before the man walked away and despite that he was surrounded by whimpering mutants, Draco couldn't help but feel utterly alone.

He was a freak…

He wasn't a wizard…

He had always been a mutant.

XXX

Paw07: A kind of dark look at the X-gene and how magic might just be a thousand years of interbreeding. Yes, there are probably a thousand plot holes in that idea but it's just a one-shot… or maybe a two shot. I have a few more ideas that I may visit later. Hope you liked this plot bunny.

(May 2015 Grammar Edits)