From the moment he had been born it had been with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was lavished with gifts unimaginable and showered in wealth. He was not denied anything, as his parents wished to show the world just how much their heir meant to them. On paper that is. For the one thing that they did not shower him in was affection. For a very long time Draco had only one creature in the world to which he could turn. As a small child, Draco had found out that magical creatures roamed the halls of his palatial manor. These small creatures hurriedly cooked their meals and cleaned their rooms all without a whine or complaint. Even as a baby they had been the ones to change his nappies and prepare his bottles all the while his parents had been off hobnobbing with the rest of the elite of their world. Left alone once too often, Draco had gotten used to the strange way these creatures talked and how they fussed over him. For the first time, Draco felt loved.
It was Dobby that Draco had taken to calling his favorite. The adventures the two would go on were resplendent with imagination and magic. There was no time in his life that he was happier than the time spent with Dobby exploring far off lands while fighting pirates, all without leaving the home that had become his prison. His father would become angered and punish Dobby when he discovered their secret adventures. He told Draco that it was beneath him to consort with the help, especially those of lower blood status. The cold and indifferent way his father spoke of Dobby made Draco question why if they were so beneath them were they allowed care for his family at all? His father had no response but to slap him and send him off to his room. He never again questioned his father's orders. For many months Draco did not see Dobby, he had been banished to another part of the manor. It was only when Draco fell from atop his toy broom did Dobby appeared uncalled. He cared for Draco's wounds and promised to visit him every day. Dobby kept his promise and Draco promised him that he would be his elf one day, and not his father's. It was with tears in his eyes that Dobby accepted the small hat that Draco gave him on behalf of the family. Once the hat was donned, Dobby turned and bound himself to Draco. When his letter came and he left for school, Draco was heartbroken to leave his only friend behind.
Children of purebloods did not gather for play dates nor did they send notes via owl. Of course they knew of each other, but they were the furthest things from friends. They were educated by private tutors that kept them isolated from most of the world. Dobby however told Draco stories of their world, how there was once an evil wizard that had tried to cover their world in darkness. Dobby told him that the wizard was only stopped by the love of a mother. She so loved her small child that it provided a powerful shield against even the darkest of magic. The story filled Draco with longing and it stirred something in his chest. Draco wondered what it would be like to be loved like that. To have a mother so devoted that she would rather die than let anything happen to him. So it was with this desire and knowledge that Draco went off to Hogwarts. It was there that he first met the boy whose mother had given her life for. The boy who was so loved not just by his mother, but by many in his world. No knowing how to make friends he failed at his endeavor. The boy so loved turned away from his extended hand and was whisked away into the mass of supporters and admirers. There was however something in that boy's eyes that Draco recognized, a loneliness that Draco was all too familiar with which made his rejection so much more poignant.
As the year passed Draco would get visits from Dobby, they would talk about what was happening at the school and in the rest of their world. During the summer was when Draco had heard his father speaking to some men about the return of the darkest of wizards and it was with this information that Draco sent Dobby to try and warn the boy so loved. Because while they were not friends, Draco knew that maybe one day he could be friends with him.
Maybe one day.
Dobby had failed but had managed to befriend Harry. At first Draco was glad but over time he grew jealous and spiteful of the shared friendship. Dobby had been his elf and the loss of his friendship made him bitter and cold, so much like his father. Draco set up wards to keep Dobby from popping in to see him and sulked in his unhappiness.
The war in their world began to rage again and the darkest of lords had return to try and kill the boy that lived, the boy loved by so many. Draco once again found himself trying to make his family happy, longing for their approval and love, getting nothing in return but angry glances and impossible demands. Nothing he did was good enough. At times he imagined that his father secretly desired that the boy that lived were his son instead of Draco. It was his victories and feats that his father lauded over summer meals at the manor, not the academic accomplishments of his own son. Then came the twisted honor bestowed. He was chosen, finally chosen to be the one, albeit the morbid request, at first he felt honored. When the grim reality of what he had to do set in Draco retched into the bushes outside the manor. He could not and would not kill anyone; it was simply not in him. His godfather pleaded for him to trust him, to let him help. He turned away from him, wanting to do this, wanting to make his mother and father proud. He wanted, no he needed to be loved. He needed it more than he needed his own life. So, if he had to take the life of another and lose his in the process, then so be it. At least then his parents would finally be proud.
Draco could remember the dark day the crimson colored water of the bathroom swirled around him, how he had prayed for a quick death. In the dark corner he could see the eyes of his once beloved elf, wanting to come to his aid but unable for the wards that protected the dying boy. The boy that lived had panicked and ran for help. Soon the rich baritone voice of his godfather lulled him to slumber as the small hand of Dobby took hold of his hand. For days after Dobby cared for him, made sure his injuries were healed. It was like old times again, Draco was transported back to a simpler time, of summers spent awash in imagination and magic. The momentary respite did not change that now more than ever he would be expected to uphold his family's honor.
He hand shook with incomparable fear. The man before him once so strong and powerful stood like a wilting flower. He begged and pleaded with Draco. Could it be real? Could the care this man was showing him be true? How could it be if no one had ever cared for him, no one but a creature his father had braded beneath them. The tears made it impossible to see. He wanted the old wizard to be quiet, to stop reading his thoughts. Draco knew however that the man was not reading his mind, he was seeing his heart. A heart so desperate for love it shouted it for anyone close enough to hear, if they would just listen. Nobody listened to Draco. It was then that his godfather came and stole his moment away; taking upon him the burden that only a shattered soul could give. It was as if the old man had pled with his godfather to do it.
The next hours were like lead, his contentment like quartz. In the darkness of his room in the manor, he lifted the wards that had kept Dobby from him and immediately his old friend was at his side. He cried that night for everything he had lost in that moment. He cried for his parents, for his lost childhood and for almost having driven Dobby from his life. The small elf placed a warm towel on his head as he shook and shivered from the aftershocks of his punishment. It would be days before he could walk, days before he could control his bowels, days before he saw anyone besides Dobby come to his aide. That was why when the boy that lived and his friends were bought to the manor, he sent Dobby once again to protect them, to get them out no matter what.
He didn't see his aunt's blade until it was too late.
There were no words for the grief that wracked his soul. He was lost in a sea of hate and madness with no one left, no one left to give him a hand.
He didn't know why he was at the castle. It had not been a request, it had been a demand. The battle raged and once again he found himself on the wrong side of the fence. Only when the fires of Hades had reached out and threatened to burn him had the hand of friendship been extended to him. It was then that rose above the madness and grief that threatened to drown him in hellfire. When the end came he begged for forgiveness and found it. His forgiveness however had come at a price. His father repenting for having spent years doing wrong finally did the right thing. He blamed himself for all of Draco's actions and took upon his back his son's burden, his final act, one of love. Draco was free.
The wind from the sea beat against the small headstone. Draco's tears soaked the dirt that covered his small friend as he knelt close to the small grave. Day turned into night and still he did not move. He kept vigil by the small elf fearing somehow he would be lost to the ocean tides. They were both so alone, one in death the other barely living.
It was then that a hand touched his shoulder, telling him it was time to go. He didn't want to go yet, so the boy that lived held his hand as the final tears fell freely from Draco's eyes.
With a small squeeze to his hand Draco knew he wasn't alone anymore.