Title: The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
Author: Miss T
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Romance/Future-fic/Horror
Notes: This story is based on one of my favourite adult-books of all time - Drawing Blood by Poppy Z Brite. The story is not exactly the same, just based around it, although some of it is very similar. I thought it was a good Harry/Draco plot, and I hope you all like it! Please please please take my recommendation of reading Drawing Blood... it really is good.

The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
Prologue - The Dance of The Forgotten Death Eaters

All the bridges in the world
Won't save you
If there is no other side
To cross to...
Half full glasses
Lost in empty houses...

- silverchair - World Upon Your Shoulders

Malfoy Manor was a cold and secluded mansion. The summer of 1996 was unusually cast-over, clouds dreary and dark, looming over the stark white building atop a lush green hill, threatening to spill rain over it's quiet form. After the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort, life inside the house became much the same - distant and cold. Relationships grew apart, each family member retreating to his or her area of the house, minding their own business, not daring to speak His name. Time for family love and bonding was gone - forgotten. What were the Malfoys without the praise of the Dark Lord?
Everything. Draco Malfoy would tell himself, every night he drifted off to sleep. We didn't, and don't need some fascist fallen dictator to decide our family fate for us. We're a powerful unit. This depression is pathetic and shows that we are weak. We are not weak.
Narcissa and Lucius' relationship grew colder within the year, and they found themselves barely communicating. This was getting too much for Draco. His Father looked worn out and beaten, ready to give up with the Ministry and their vast amounts of paperwork concerning the fate of the Death Eaters. But, of course, Lucius was never discovered of such tendencies. Still working for the Ministry, but only steadily so. Before this, he was on his way up - branded the next Minister of Magic, some said. But now, he remained where he was. Too tired. Too ashamed.
Draco knew that Lucius liked to have a few drinks. A couple of whiskeys here and there - maybe even a double vodka. He would sit, mulling for hours in his empty study, looking for salvation at the bottom of a bottle, boring his eyes into the fireplace. Whenever Draco would walk past at night, he would always see the faint crackling of fire seeping from the gap in the doorway, the faint echoing of violin concerto's from the record player, on repeat of course.
Draco often wondered if his father was planning on promoting himself within the Ministry. Whether he wanted to. Draco still wasn't sure even what he himself wanted to do after Hogwarts. There was no way Lucius would approve of Draco's love to become a professional pianist, or artist, even. Draco would no doubt be dragged into the family tradition of working for the Ministry. Like father, like son.
Draco let his elegant fingers run slowly along the keys of the giant piano in a vacant room of the mansion. The keys felt like death under his touch - cold and smooth marble, hard and unmoving. Pressing his fingers down, he straightened his back as a soft melody began to unfold, closing his eyes as it echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls.
"You play beautifully, son." Lucius' firm but tender voice echoed over the playing, causing Draco to stop abruptly and look up. He felt ashamed that he let his father hear him, let his father hear the tune of his soul. As Lucius advanced on his son, Draco sat up straighter, placing his hands on his lap and lifting his chin up proudly.
"Thank you, Father." He replied. Lucius nodded, patting his son's head, letting his fingers linger over the soft angel-hair for a moment longer than necessary, before leaning over to kiss the crown of Draco's head. Draco immediately looked down at his hands as his father left the room, noticing a tiny speck of moisture. Placing his fingers to his lips, he tasted the salty tear. His father's, or his own?

Draco walked past his Father's study again, hearing the familiar clink of ice inside a glass, the familiar roar of a beaten fire. To say he got a fright when Lucius stepped outside, was an understatement.
"Father..." He breathed, placing his hand on his chest, his face colouring in shame.
"What are you doing, son?" Lucius asked, his voice only slightly slurred. Draco couldn't help but wrinkle up his nose as his father's hot alcohol laced breath swept over his face.
"Going to bed, Father." Draco replied, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Very well. Would you like a drink before you leave, son?" Lucius' face twisted into a drunken smile, and he grasped for the handle of his Study door. Draco frowned and pursed his lips in hesitation. "Well... errr..."
Lucius' smile became wider. "Oh, come on, son! How often is it that you get to have a drink with your dear old Father?"
Draco dithered for another moment before nodding reluctantly. "Excellent." Lucius smiled, opening the door for Draco. As Draco entered the stifling room, his eyes scanned over his father's desk that was unusually disorganized, papers scattered and scrunched up into balls, used glasses and empty tumblers of drink decorated the typically spick and span wood.
As Lucius handed his son a glass of whiskey, some of the brown spirit splattered over the sides and onto Draco's pale fingers. Wiping his fingers on his robes, Draco smiled nervously and took a large gulp of the liquid. It burned like fire down his throat, threatening to come back up, before Draco forced a dry swallow down.
"That's it, son." Lucius said, cradling his own glass.
Taking another gulp of the fiery drink, Draco placed the glass down and held a hand to his head. The world had suddenly become rather lopsided. "I think I better go to bed now, Father." He said quietly.
"Yes, yes. Very well." Lucius said, waving his hand in the air.
Draco nodded at his father before turning out of the room and walking down the hall into his own bedroom. After he had clumsily pulled on his pyjamas and got into bed, Draco swore to himself that he would never touch whiskey again.

As the morning sun streamed through the gap of the curtains in Draco's bedroom, he groaned rather audibly and clamped his hands to his head. His temples were buzzing, a pounding headache cursing through him. Blinking owlishly, Draco clawed for his dressing-gown atop his velvet sheets, pulling it on himself weakly before standing up. Panting shallowly and slowly making his way out of his bedroom, Draco decided that the house elves wouldn't have to worry about preparing a large breakfast for him this morning - a painkiller and a glass of water would do nicely.
He saw the blood before he saw anything else.
His heart stopped momentarily before he could find his breath again, somewhere deep within the cages of his chest. Deep crimson smudges littered the walls, decorating them in handprints and claw marks, moving up and down before resting down down down... further down... Mummy.
Narcissa Malfoy lay in a crumpled heap next to the doorway of the bathroom, her head upturned - eyes open and glazed over. Her hands were a bloody mess, disfigured and entwining within each other, the bones glinting through the blood and reflecting in the daylight from the hall windows. Her hair was matted with dried blood, clear fluid ran freely from her temple where a large shard of glass was embedded into her skin, the fluid and blood mixing and tracing down her face and over her open eyes...
Draco stumbled backwards, towards the main stairs of the building, unaware of the high pitched whimpering emitting from his own mouth. As he reached the banister of the stairs, he let his body come into contact with the metal railings, pushing deep into his stomach. Moaning louder, Draco lent over the stairs and threw up, wincing as the vomit slapped off the ground floor below him, splashing over the cold stone.
Taking in a deep breath, Draco placed the back of his hand to his mouth and wiped at it forcefully before making his way down stairs to the elf's quarters. The door to the kitchen was ajar, the luminous light from the working stations seeping through and into the hall. Taking in a shaky breath, Draco placed his fingers onto the door and pushed it open.
Draco let out a startled yell and stumbled backwards onto the wall, hitting his head violently off of the stone. Hyperventilating, he closed his eyes tightly and refused to look ahead of him. All six house elves - all six of them slaughtered. The carnage, the blood...
Draco stood up immediately, his eyes still clamped shut. Grasping at the surrounding walls for support, he made his way back to the first floor. Father! I have to find Father! He held onto the fading hope that maybe Lucius was still alive, that whoever had attacked the house had spared his Father. Panicking and walking with a urgent pace, Draco slammed his way into his father's study. It's where Lucius' colleagues found him hours later, when Lucius didn't show up for a meeting he had with the Ministry that day. They saw Narcissa's body first, and had nearly called the Auror's in for assistance before they heard the echoing whimpering.
They found Draco curled into a small ball on the floor of Lucius Malfoy's study, eyes fixed on the body of his father. Lucius Malfoy had hung himself from the chandelier with a rope. He swung there, face swollen and sombre, his hands covered in blood. His eyes budged half way out of their sockets and his long silvery hair was in an erratic mess around his head. A large liquor bottle lay next to his dangling feet, a shard of glass missing from it, covered in dry blood.
Someone lifted and carried Draco out of the horrific scene, still curled into a tight ball. The Dance of the Death Eaters was over.

__________

The Daily Prophet - July 14th, 1996
By Rita Skeeter, Staff, official correspondent

MISERY AT MALFOY MANOR
A bloodbath was discovered yesterday evening at the world famous wizarding family home, Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy, current head of the Malfoy estate, has reported to have horrifically bludgeoned his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, and his staff of six house elves, before brutally committing suicide. The only surviving soul was Malfoy's only son, 16 year old Draco Malfoy.
The Malfoy family, originally from France, have been famous for their pureblood wizarding for centuries and are one of the best groups of magic makers in the world. Malfoy, 44, worked for our very own Ministry of Magic, and was condemned as the future Minister. An Auror who helped clean up the tragedy has commented at the scene. "We believe that alcohol was involved... With these kinds of wizards, that is usually the case." So, does this mean that the famous Malfoy family are a long string of alcoholics? Maybe.
After a meeting with close family friends, the Goyle's, Vanessa Goyle had only this to comment. "There was nothing wrong with Lucius. Not that I saw, anyway. If there was - it wouldn't have been anyone's business. Only the Malfoy's know what went on in that house." She then added; "Draco is a talented young wizard, I hope he sees past this horrific ordeal."
No one would speculate on why Malfoy let his son live. The child has been removed from his current schooling and has been taken into custody of the Ministry, his fate is yet unknown.

~~~|~~~

to be continued...