Author's Note: Though I have written many stories, this is the first time I have posted any on FanFiction, so bare with me. The lyrics I used are from Anberlin's Dismantle. Repair. Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling, and I do not own Harry Potter or his world.
…
One last glance from a taxicab
Images scar my mind
Four weeks felt like years
Since your full attention was all mine
…
The tall, pale, and blonde Draco Malfoy had to exercise all of his self-control to not scoff at the man in front of him. Stan Shunpike was revolting just to look at. Draco brought his hand from his pocket and gave Shunpike a few gold coins, careful not to touch the man's hand. "I am going to the Leaky Cauldron." Shunpike sent him a toothy grin as Draco stepped onto the horrible purple bus (it was almost as bad as those yellow muggle busses), and Draco sneered. "I'd like to get off as soon as possible so I'd appreciate it if you'd move this… thing."
Draco felt a savage sense of pleasure as Shunpike frowned, looking slightly put-off. "Right…" Shunpike muttered something to the insanely old man sitting in the driver's seat, and then the bus lurched forward. Draco's pointed face twisted, and he braced himself against the nearest bed. He wouldn't sit on it, it was – without a doubt – filthy. He glanced out of the window, feeling his heart sink ever lower as mansions and manors gave way to small hovels and shops.
You have to do this, he reminded himself, his knuckles white as he clutched a bedpost. You have to get away and take control of your life.
…
And say oh, whoa,
Things are gonna change now, for the better
And oh, whoa, things are gonna change
Oh, they're gonna change
…
Draco stood in the room he was assigned, glaring at the poor excuse for a bed sitting in the middle of it. How was he supposed to sleep on that thing? It looked horribly lumpy. He dragged in a deep breath, trying to remember he was here for good reasons. Namely, his own safety and sanity. Those should be good enough reasons to sleep on a lumpy mattress for a few days.
Ten minutes later, he was gingerly lowering himself on the bed, trying to keep all thoughts of germs and dirt from his mind. His torso was littered with bruises, all shapes and sizes, all in varying stages of healing. Around his upper arms were several bright red marks that looked suspiciously like handprints. The fifteen-year-old's head finally hit the pillow, and he was asleep within seconds.
Draco turned his face away, not wanting to see his father like this… he didn't want to see the older man's sunken face, his angry eyes, the angry red marks on his face. Draco felt the curse rip through his body, and he tried to stay still –he really tried – but as the pain burned through his veins like fire, his hands clenched into fists, showing his weakness. Still he kept his eyes averted, looking through bleary eyes at the meticulously crafted ceiling of his living room. The pale boy studied the ceiling through red eyes, resisting the urge to scream… A strangled gasp escaped his lips as the curse was lifted, and he felt his posture relax, his fists unclenching. Still he kept his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to see his father's rage. He had shown weakness, he had shown weakness...
"Draco." Lucius's voice was controlled; his age barely seeping through. "Look at me, Draco."
Draco turned his gaze to his father, the firelight glinting off of Lucius's long pale hair. The rage and fear were written all over the man's gaunt face, and Draco sneered. At least his own face was clear of emotion. His voice, however, was another matter entirely, so Draco didn't dare speak.
"The Dark Lord," Lucius swallowed, and the fear mingled with admiration in his voice. "Will not approve of your … transparency."
Draco's sneer remained in place, contorting his handsome face horribly. "And what does he think of your own 'transparency' father?" His voice was slightly higher than normal, but he paid it no mind. "Does he like the way you grovel at his feet, admiration seeping through every pore, every emotion-"
Lucius's wand cut through the air like a knife, and the pain was back, consuming Draco entirely. Draco's frame tensed only a fraction, but his father noticed and started shouting, the little control the older man possessed gone.
…
I am the Patron Saint of Lost Causes
A fraction of who I once believed
Change, only a matter of time
Opinions, I will try and rewrite
…
Draco woke before the sun had risen, sweat coating his body like a second skin. His body was tense, and his hands were gripping the pale yellow sheets so hard that his nails left red crescent shapes on his palms.
Was a Death Eater in his room again? Wouldn't they ever leave him alone? He wasn't a bloody source of entertainment to be abused at all hours. Draco glanced frantically around the room, looking for a big hulking figure with a wand, then realized he was in the Leaky Cauldron… alone. He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax, and after several tense moments he did.
He rubbed his eyes as he sat up; trying to rid himself of the horrible memories the dreams had brought back.
You're not there anymore, you're here. You don't ever have to go back.
An almost overwhelming sense of relief washed over him as he realized the truth of these thoughts. "I'm here. I'm safe." Draco was glad his father wasn't there for many reasons, but one of the more prominent ones was that if he were there, he would see that Draco was actually showing emotion… And Draco didn't like looking weak in front of anyone. Especially his father.
…
If life had background music,
Playing your song,
I've got to be honest; I tried to escape you,
But the orchestra plays on
And they sing, oh whoa
Things are gonna change now, for the better
And oh, whoa, things are gonna change
…
No matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't stop acting like his father. He would sneer at the people passing him in Diagon Alley; he would make snide comments to anyone and everyone that deigned to talk to him. He would think about what would happen to all of the people surrounding him when the Dark Lord took over, and he would think about it with a smile on his face. Then Draco would catch himself, and frown, wondering when Lucius had sunk his claws so deep into him. Maybe it was all of those lessons Lucius had shouted over the sound of Draco's screams. Later, the only thing that made it hard to hear his father's furious bellows was the pain roaring in Draco's ears. He was no longer screaming, but it was loud enough without it.
Draco hoped as he walked down the street, silently, that things would change. That maybe one day, Draco could walk through the street without wanting to kill everyone in it.
…
Hands like secrets,
Are the hardest things to keep from you
Lines and phrases, like knives,
Your words can cut me through.
…
The smirk Draco had worn when he stepped onto Platform 9 ¾ was suddenly ripped from his face. He saw the figure with long, pale hair standing in front of the scarlet steam engine, and his heart plummeted. Draco could tell from his father's stance that he was furious, that when he turned around and saw Draco, a horrible smile would light his face, and Draco would feel the pain…
And so it happened, just like the boy thought it would. When the pain came, Draco wanted to scream, to tear at his chest until his heart fell to the floor, sending him into the blessed blackness. Instead he stood casually, his eyes slightly redder than normal, his hands gripping his trunk tighter than necessary. If anyone had cared enough to notice, they would've seen the small furrow to his brow, the way his lips quivered when his father stepped closer.
Of course, no one cared, so no one looked, and the pain continued.
…
You dismantle me,
You dismantle me
…