A/N: This story contains slash (male-male pairings). It also contains abuse, and problems such as sel-mutilation and depression. My native languague is not english, so if anyonegets annoyed by thatwelldont read!.
Wasted
CHAPTER I
A six year old boy was sitting on a chair in front of his lunch. He was tiny with tiny little hands clutching the fork looking at his plate. He shot a quick glance at his mother who was sitting at one of the ends of the large table. She was picking at her food again. She didn´t eat it she just move it around the plate and once every fifteen minutes took a tiny little bite. His father with his grey eyes moving along a letter he receive failing to notice what his wife was doing with the food on her plate.
The boy look back and forward between his parents. He swung his feets, maybe someday he could be as tall as his father. Indiference was always at the order of the day. His parents didn´t talk to each other, this wasn´t surprising, actually it was so normal he didn´t even took it as somethig odd.
His father was a powerfull person, always exuding an incredible aura, so full of power, wich provoque fear and respect from people around him. His black ink hair and his grey almost translucent eyes always make you look at him straigh in the eye. He was slender and the image of perfection at his sons young eyes. But that was before the events of that year took any place.
His mother on the other hand was a cold person, with an intelligence he hadn´t seen in anyone else. She was always talking about perfection. Her gaunt features, her black eyes. She had a beatifull hair almost black-blue. She was beatifull he thought, her skin was milk white, her eyes black with traces of purple, she was unique so delicate, so fraile like a doll but so strong at the same time, always studing, inmerse in her books, reading, learning. She had perfect control over her emotions and talk in a calm voice even in the worse situations.
She took a tiny bite of food. She was deathly thin her son notice. Her shoulders stook out of the fabrique of her cloth. Her cheek bones were sharp throw the thin layer of skin, actually you could almost see her jaw, and her teeths. Her long bony fingers left the fork at the side of the plate when she notice her son was staring at her.
"Honey, eat your food" she said in her calm voice that echoed in the gigantic room. After the brief interruption of the scrutiny of her food she pick up her fork again and start moving it through the plate.
"You can be such a hypocrate" his father said not moving his eyes from the letter in his hand, he said it with a low and sarcastic tone.
"I don´t know what your talking about darling. And honestly I would prefer not to" she answered, her tone was strong and quiet but her son sense a hint of sadness in her cold voice.
That year was the worse year of his life. Her mother got really sick around march and died in a matter of weeks. He was not allowed to see her when she was in the hospital. His father didn´t tell him why she died, he actually didn´t even speak or explain anything to the almost seven year old. He was actuallly inform by a house elve about her death.
Important pureblood families were at the funeral. Including the Malfoys. But he fail to notice. His beatifull mother had died, he could never see her angelic but cold face again. He was trying to hold back the tears that where threatening to run down his pale cheeks. But he fail to do that too. His father who was holding him by his shoulders, when he notice the tears in his son face thight up his grip and whisper in his sons ear.
"Control yourself Severus... I will not be embarrased by my own son... You will be staying with the Malfoys tonight and I expect you to behave... is that understood?" when the boy merely nod, he left him.
The boy with ink black hair as his fathers and black orbs like his mothers was staring at the hole where she was put in. In was the end of the winter, the snow was still ivory white but was starting to melt down. He catch a glimp of color in the corner of his eyes. It was a flower, a forget-me-not, he pick it up walk to her mothers ´hole´ and tore the little flower to pices, he let them fall from his little hands to the grave.
Everything after that was a blur he felt himself numb, he merely nod or shook his head when they asked him something. The pain was slowly making his way to his ink black eyes, he cursed himself for not being able to control himself. He put the nails of his right hand above his left hand and push... the phisical pain calm his nerves and he didn´t cry... he was controlling himself... and that was what he was suposed to do... right?