Chapter One:

Hogwarts sat proudly on a rolling pasture, a permanent fixture in the rocky landscape. Moonlight cast splinters of silver over the quiet castle. The sky hung heavy, thick with stars like dewdrops, stepping-stones to new lands and distant places. The dark abyss of evergreen pines and grey oaks swayed in the caressing wind outside, as a soft patter of rain began to hum on Hogwarts roofs. The lake that encompassed the Slytherin dorms echoed a silent, green light against the black, paneled walls. Heavy, ivy green drapes fell from the high ceiling, and hard, black leather couches surrounded the somber ash and amber remains of the previously roaring fire, set back in a grand, stone fireplace. The slow, ominous shadows of passing fish by the dorms windows, like slugs within thick, green slime, made the common room itself feel as if submerged, completely cut off from reality. The steady flick of their tails sent boomerang patterns of reflecting light into the common room where Draco Malfoy sat. His blonde hair was messy, untamed and mattered. A soft shadow of stubble was toning his sculpted jaw. He still wore his Syltherin uniform; his tie hung loose upon a half unbuttoned white shirt, which he had rolled the sleeves up, leaving his scarred wrists to catch the same silver colour of the diffused moonlight. His robes had been cast to the side, messily displayed over the side table.

'You have diss-a-pointed us. Again!

I am beginning to believe, Draco, that you are doing this on purpose.

Is that what you want. DRACO! Look at me when I am speaking to you!

You rude, insolent, boy!'

Lucius' hand, endowed with heavy silver rings, violently cracked across Draco's face.

'You are a pathetic excuse for a son!'

'I-I'm sorry'

'Stop your whining. Crucio!'

Draco withered on the black wooden floors. His entire body screamed. His heart vibrated as one massive pulse through his body, as every cell in his being was twisted and churned.

'I hope, you have learnt your lesson' Lucius said, picking his sons head up from the floor, briefly examining the running slice of skin just below his eye, before pushing his head back onto the ground, and stalking out of the grand hall.

'Draco!' Narcissa said, running over to him

'Don't, don't' you dare touch me' he said, pulling himself up off the floor. He spat a thick, clogged mass of blood as he stood. The wood was so dark you could barely see it. Narcissa held her hands a few centimeters from her torso, wanting to caress the boy, but not knowing how.

'Draco, just… let me, can I…'

'Narcissa. Just, leave me be' he said, and pulled his hunched, cut up frame from the hall towards his chambers.

He no longer noticed the pain. He didn't even realize he was pressing the silver blade across his skin until he felt light headed. He looked down at his left arm, now covered in fresh, long slits. They spanned from the inner side of his elbow to the end of his wrist. Close to thirty, identical red lines, some deeper than others, but all seeping velvet red blood. A pool of it had collected itself on his porcelain skin. It had begun to run, long streams of raw emotion, down the underside of his arm, leaking onto the couch and, unfortunately, staining his skirt. The shadows and dead light that passed over his eyes kept Draco in a trance, his mind set on numbed delusion. There was nothing left in his head. No screaming. No memories. No nightmares or taunts or faults or fuck ups. He was completely silent. Void of all emotion, his eyes lay grey green and dead. Tears no longer visited him.

With a face set to stone, he pulled the box of tissues from the side table towards him. Steadily, practiced, he pulled out three sets of five layered tissues. The first he used to soak the crimson from his arm. The second to wipe the seat down, and the third to re-place the well and truly soaked first set on his arm. He grabbed his robes and wrapped them over his now chilled frame as he walked to his room. Draco then recovered a roll of bandages and tape that hid on top of his wardrobe, stored away in a secret compartment. He wrapped his arm tightly, wincing every now and then when the pressure caught him off guard. When he replaced the bandages, he retrieved his pack of 'Old Jones Tame Tobacco' cigarettes. The little cardboard casing displayed a smiling, sexy wizard, reclining on a leather seat. The picture cast her leaning back, laughing, and pulling in the cigarette for a drag, sat up and crossed her legs, blew the smoke then a kiss, towards the buyer.

Draco quickly pulled a black, hoodie jacket over himself, shoved his feet into a pair of expensive boots, and walked back out, through the green-lit common room, heading for the gargoyle door. Knocking three times above its head, then two below, he whispered effugere. The gargoyle sunk back in on its foundation, and with a crunching sound of stone on stone, slid to the side, revealing a cobbled, cobwebbed tunnel.

It stank of mold and dampness, and dripped frost bitten water droplets onto his head and back.

"Lumos," he lit his wand, and felt along the wall for the pressing stone. It was three shades darker than the other stones, and in a perfect circle. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't notice it. Finally finding it, he pressed it, and the gargoyle behind him closed. Off he went, the blue light of his wand his only means of comfort, stuck underground in the damp and dark. His footsteps echoed as he began to run down the tunnel, splashing puddles of dirty water as he went. It wasn't until he was finally outside, surrounded by the crisp air and haze of rain that he could finally breath.