Life: Draco

Draco Malfoy sighed unhappily. He was seated on a window seat slicing his skin open with a knife, repressing the pain, knowing it would help him survive the final year under the imperious curse before he ended it all. He was to leave for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry tomorrow, yet his thoughts were on suicide.

Despite all the horrible things he said and did, he never meant any of it. In his first year, his father, Lucius Malfoy, had placed him under the imperious curse and forced him to be an evil little brat. From then on, being mean was like a second skin. But that all changed when she came.

Her name was Narcissa. Every one thought that Narcissa was Draco's blood-mother, but she was, in actuality, his stepmother. The strangest thing was that, although he never showed it, Lucius actually loved her. She showed Draco how to be kind again, how to love. She was the only one who had ever melted away some of his icy exterior and seen the real Draco Malfoy.

When he was nearly on the breaking point, he had been able to turn to her and tell her all the horrible things. When he realized he was in love, real love, with a mudblood, she was there, understanding and loving. He could not bring himself to admit his feelings to that mud blooded girl, yet he had only one last chance. One last chance he didn't know if he would be able to take.

Life: Lucius

Lucius, sensing the kindness of his wife beginning to melt the icy composure of Draco, wanted so much to stop it. But he had seen his son's face that day his love had told him she hated him, told him she never wanted to see his face again. Something inside died that day, the capability to be mean and evil without being forced. It broke his heart but he imposed the imperious curse upon him again.

This year though, he would allow Draco to run free with his emotions. To fall in love, to be kind, to learn heartbreak, but to know the ones he loved knew that he loved them.

He knew his son cut himself, dulling emotional pain with physical. He knew Draco planned to kill himself at the end of seventh year. He knew it all. Yet he could not force himself to approach his son. His own son! Once, he was destined to become a death eater, but Voldemort was dead, death eaters dead.

He had barely evaded death himself, but he was put on veritaserum and survived because of the imperious curse. Yes, he had not acted of his own will, but of the will of Voldemort. Now, no one feared to speak his name.

The Story

"Draco! Come down here!" Draco gave a start, and hurriedly stashed the knife and quickly bound up his wounds.

"Coming, father!" he yelled as he sped out the door. 'I expect this is to place me under the curse.' he thought darkly. He stopped surprised as he saw his father, wandless, at the foot of the stairs.

"Draco, give me your hand." Draco obliged, he hesitated but he did hold out his hand. Lucius carefully removed the fresh bandage to reveal the bleeding cuts that went up and down his arm. He inspected the other arm, finding partially healed scabs and pale scars.

Draco stood by tentatively as his father sat down heavily in a chair, hands on his face.

"Draco, why do you do this? Don't you have any idea what this does to your poor mother and I?"

"I…it's just that I-how did you know?" Draco's curiosity mixed strangely with the rage and embarrassment on his pale, thin face.

"Your mother," Lucius began, avoiding his sons angered eyes, "She told me everything. What did you expect her to do?" he cried seeing the anguished look on Draco's face, "Her son was slowly destroying himself, planning to kill himself even! She was worried…upset…"his voice was a whisper now, and Draco moved forward to hear what he said.

"She thinks of you as her son, actual son. As though she birthed you." To both Draco and Lucius' surprise, Lucius began to cry now. Softly, tears coursing down his face.

After a while, Lucius rose and said, "Draco, I would like you to go to your room and finish packing. Dinner is in half an hour."

"Yes, father." Solemnly, Draco made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. Since he had been packed for a week now, he just sat, contemplating the previous conversation.

A/N: Hey there! Well, this is very different than any of my other stories. I started it a while back, but I decided to change a lot of it. In my story, Voldemort wasn't killed by Harry, but he is dead. Harry, seeing as he didn't fulfill the prophecy, died, too.