A/N: Hiyaz everyone! Lord knows why I'm starting a new story when I have
about a dozen unfinished ones. Oh well. I've spent a few weeks writing this
prologue/chapter - in fact, it's the longest chapter I've ever written! Yay
on me! I would appreciate it immensely if everyone who reads this reviews!
Disclaimer: (yay I finally remembered to include one!) The characters of this story DO NOT BELONG TO ME! They belong to the amazingly talented J K Rowling. The only thing I own is the PLOT. Yes, the plot is all mine! Mine, you hear? MINE!!! *insert evil laugh*
Perfection
Prologue
"You stupid boy! How could you be so utterly CARELESS?" Lucius Malfoy hollered at his son.
Draco resisted the urge to just roll his eyes. It wasn't his fault. How on earth was he supposed to know that the book he gave to Pansy Parkinson to borrow was a Dark Arts book? He had nothing to do with stuff like that.
"Don't you dare give me that look, you insolent brat!" Lucius yelled.
"I truly --am-- sorry father. I didn't mean to disappoint you by giving away one of your precious Dark Arts books," Draco said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I just never knew you were so close to each one, considering the library of them we have back home,"
"Don't you dare cheek me," Lucius said quietly, trying to control his anger. "I am your father! You should respect me, you piece of filth! You should be grateful that you're even alive now! If I knew that you were going to grow up like this, I would've just given up on you twelve years ago! Left you to be ripped into shreds by that werewolf!" he hissed, some spit flying from his mouth. "Left you and that stupid whore of a mother alone. Even if you had died then, she wouldn't have cared. And when you did, she would've just crawled back to me," Lucius sneered.
Draco's eyes narrowed. Even though Lucius's words cut him deep, he didn't let that show.
"Don't talk about my mother that way," he said dangerously.
"Excuse me! Are --you-- giving --me-- orders? I believe that --you-- are the son, and --I-- am the father!" Lucius hissed.
"You have no control over me, you bastard," Draco spat.
Lucius's eye twitched.
"Right, boy. If you are going to behave this way, I think that I'll leave you here for, hmmm . . . a few days," he said, and, quick as lightning, summoned Draco's wand out of his pocket, into his hand.
Draco lunged towards it, but Lucius pointed his own wand at him.
"Uh-uh-uh. You can have it back in three days. Goodnight Draco," Lucius said, closing the door, but not before casting a few barrier and locking spells around the room. Most probably very strong Dark Magic ones.
"Bastard," Draco whispered. He hated knowing that he was being confined. It made things ten times worse.
The walls around him suddenly seemed to be closing in. Closer and closer and closer . . . if he didn't do anything now, they would get him. Those walls. He hated them. They made him feel . . . suffocated.
He sat down on his bed, and opened a drawer in his bedside table.
"You have no control over me. Not at all," he said, pulling a can out of the drawer. The room was slowly starting to spin now, the walls still moving closer.
He emptied its contents into his hand, staring at the five white tablets intently.
"None whatsoever," he whispered, then tipped his hand back to his mouth, swallowing the tablets whole.
He fell back onto the bed.
And drifted into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1
Draco's eyes snapped open.
He was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat.
He had that dream again. The one where Voldemort killed . . . someone. Torturing them, for a long time, such a long time. It was always the same. Draco wanted to help the person, but he couldn't move. And, the thing was . . . he didn't know who he was trying to save. All he knew was that he simply had to save them because . . . well . . . he didn't know. He just had to.
"What day is it?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular. "Oh yeah . . . Wednesday," he turned to his side. "He's gonna let me out today," he whispered to himself.
Although his father was a conniving bastard, he was always true to his word. And it had been exactly three days since he had locked Draco in the room in the Leaky Cauldron, where they were staying for one week.
Draco sighed. He was hungry.
He got up out of bed and pulled his (muggle) shirt and trousers, which had been thrown onto the floor, on.
He rubbed his eyes so that he could see clearly.
As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't. The walls had started closing in on him again. Slowly, ever so slowly . . . but he knew that they were moving.
"Shit!" he moaned, stumbling back onto his bed.
He couldn't deal with this right now, he just couldn't deal with it, especially not after that dream.
He grabbed onto the handle of the drawer where he kept his tablets, pulled it open, tried to feel his way to the can of tablets while keeping his eyes closed. His hand closed around something cylindrical.
"Yes," he whispered.
He opened his eyes, tearing the lid off the can, tipping it into his hand . . .
There was nothing there.
"No!" he cried, eyes slightly wide.
He began to rummage around in his drawer, pulling another can out. It was empty. And another one. And another one.
He must have been asleep for a while. Sleep being the other word for 'unconscious'.
"Shit shit shit shit shit," he began muttering under his breath, searching for more cans. But they were all empty. "No," he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and laid back on his bed. "He'll be here soon. He'll let me out. He'll let me out. He will. He will," he began repeating to himself over and over again.
"Boy? Are you up?" came the cold voice of his father, stunning him. He opened his eyes and sat up. He swallowed silently.
"Yes father. I'm up," he said.
"Why are you wearing that despicable clothing? Put on some robes to look at least semi-decent. I trust that you have learned your lesson," Lucius sneered, ignoring the sheen of sweat on his son's forehead, and the unusual pale colour his skin was. Paler than usual, that is.
"Yes sir." Draco looked downwards as he said this. He didn't want to get on his father's bad side again.
Lucius threw him some black robes, which Draco pulled on, tying them at the front.
"Here's your wand. Go downstairs. Now. I want you to buy some special books for me from Borgin and Burkes," Lucius commanded.
Draco obediently stood up, following his father down the stairs. He'd finally be able to get some fresh air and space. Much better than the room that he was cooped up in.
"Now, here is a list of the books I need you to buy. Make sure you're back in your room by midnight. I will be away most of the day, since I have some . . . business I need to attend," Lucius said in an oily voice, handing his son the list.
Draco nodded, clenching the list in his hand tightly. Luckily, that action went unnoticed by Lucius Malfoy.
As he turned and made his way to the door, Tom the Leaky Cauldron keeper called to him, "'Ey there lad! Feeling better now? Hope you got that soup I sent up to you! Soup always makes you feel better when you're ill, my mother always said!"
Draco paused, nodded, then walked out of the door. His father had obviously fed Tom some cock-and-bull story about him being too ill to go down for breakfast, lunch and dinner. In truth, he had survived with no food apart from his tablets for three days. It didn't matter. He was used to this. It was a thousand times worse in the Manor, though. Draco shuddered slightly - he didn't need another reminder of that cold place he called 'home'.
He shook his head as he made his way down Diagon Alley, walking ever so slowly. Borgin and Burkes was a rather large shop, so he didn't have to worry about any walls closing in on him, but he still didn't really like being there - the air was filled with Dark Magic. It was slightly unnerving, not that Draco would admit that to anyone but himself.
As he was walking along, he started muttering things to himself. He was angry at his father. Hell, he was furious. It was so bloody unfair. How could his father just shrug off Draco's fear of enclosed spaces as weakness? Draco had read in one of his mother's books that it was an irrational psychological fear that couldn't be controlled or some crap like that. Before she died, of course.
Draco shook his head angrily. How dare his mother leave him all alone with Lucius? She knew about Draco's claustrophobia, and she knew that Lucius liked to use it against his son as much as possible, by locking him in the dungeons and everything else. How could she leave him? She was his mother. Draco sighed. It wasn't her fault, really. It was Voldemort's. Fucking Voldemort with his fucking values with his fucking opinions of what makes a good Malfoy. A loyal Malfoy.
He had decided that Draco's mother was treacherous, and had therefore killed her. Just like that. Well, at least she didn't suffer before she died, Draco thought.
"Fucking Voldemort. It's all his fault. Fucking Lucius. It's all his fault too. Didn't even try to stop the fucking Dark Lord from fucking killing his own fucking wife. Stupid man. 'Be a Death Eater, Draco, do this Draco, do that, Draco'. I'm not your fucking pawn, Lucius, I'm your son, and you aren't my master, you stupid mother-fucker," Draco was muttering to himself as he made his way down Diagon Alley, not even noticing someone coming towards him with a tower of books in their hands, preventing them from looking where they were going.
Draco harshly pushed past the person, causing them to drop all their books.
"Shit," they cursed softly.
Draco was going to ignore them, and carry on walking, but something made him stop. He looked up to the sky.
"Bloody hell, what's wrong with me?" he muttered.
Then he turned around, and went back to help the person pick their books up.
He kneeled down on the ground, picking up a number of books. Schoolbooks, he noticed.
"Here," Draco said, standing up, then holding his hand out to help the person get up.
"Thanks," he said, getting up. He suddenly let go of Draco's hands and gasped softly. "Malfoy?" he said disbelievingly.
Draco frowned, before he realised who he had helped. "Potter?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Here you go," he said, handing him some books.
Harry Potter took them, his mouth slightly open.
"Take a picture Potter, it lasts longer," Draco drawled. Hang on, wasn't he supposed to sneer? His eyes quickly skimmed Harry's body. Potter was looking fine. He had finally got a growth spurt and was now three inches taller than Draco.
Draco cursed silently. Damn. That would mean that he was the shortest person in Seventh Year. Draco had always been a small child, and now that Potter had grown, he'd look even smaller. Harry's jet-black hair was as dishevelled as always, and his eyes were as green as ever. Draco vaguely noticed that Harry's mouth was moving, but he couldn't make out the words. Harry's mouth. Mmmm . . . what it'd feel like to kiss those lips and . . . Draco frowned suddenly. No . . . he was NOT crushing on Potter.
Of course he was gay (who wasn't these days - not that he ever acted on it), but he certainly was not hot for POTTER, of all people.
Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.
"What?" he asked.
"Malfoy, you just zoned out there and started staring at me," Harry said. "Now, I was asking, why the hell did you just help me pick my books up?" he asked.
"I . . ." Draco started, before he realised that he didn't know. "I don't know," he said truthfully.
Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"Riiiiiiight," he said, evidently not believing the blonde-haired youth in front of him. The extremely pale and thin looking blonde-haired youth in front of him. With some sweat on his forehead. And with his blue-grey eyes. And with his nice mouth and medium-sized soft-looking lips. And with his- what? No, Harry, NO! Stop thinking these things!
Draco rolled his eyes.
"So, Potter, how are you? What are you doing in Diagon Alley?" he drawled, not sounding that interested (which he wasn't - well, not REALLY, anyway).
Harry's eyes widened at the sound of Malfoy actually making polite, civil conversation.
"What? Is THE Draco, Mr I-Own-The-World-With-My-Pureblood-Family-Line-And- Extremely-Gorgeous-Looks, Malfoy actually making CIVIL conversation?" Harry asked, surprise evident in his voice.
A hint of a smile graced Draco's lips.
"Why, Mister Potter . . . I had no idea that you thought of me being EXTREMELY gorgeous! Well, there must be something good about me if Golden Boy can go around announcing my greatness to the world," Draco said, looking faintly amused.
Harry felt a blush graze his cheeks. He sincerely hoped that Malfoy was colour-blind. So that he wouldn't realize that Harry was blushing - he hadn't meant it like that. All he meant was that Malfoy always swaggered around like he owned the place, with his blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, and lean legs and . . . dammit!
"I . . . I d-didn't mean it like that," Harry stuttered.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Of COURSE you didn't," he said, eyes still looking amused. "Why WOULD you? We can't have our very own Golden Boy turning into a FAG now, can we?" Draco asked sarcastically.
"Look, Malfoy, just piss off," Harry replied, getting annoyed with the Slytherin.
"Hey, take it easy Harry, I was just kidding," Draco put his arms up in a 'please don't shoot me' motion.
Harry blinked.
Draco blinked.
"You called me Harry," Harry said.
A slight pause.
"So I did," Draco said.
They stood there, staring at each other for a bit.
"So, ehm . . . what are you doing here, Har-erm, Har-err, Har . . . Harry Potter?" Draco asked, quickly recovering from his mistake. Not in the smartest way, mind you, but he still recovered from it.
"Why do you need to know, Malfoy?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed in a suspicious manner.
Draco shrugged.
"Just asking," he said. "You're probably staying at the Leaky Cauldron, aren't you? Hear you got tired of being treated like a king by those muggles you live with," he said in a casual manner.
Harry frowned, suddenly feeling quite angry.
"King? King?!" he spat. "Tired of having to do my homework in the middle of the night, tired of not being allowed to be left in the house alone, tired of not being allowed --out-- of the house alone, tired of being treated like a --slave--, maybe, but a king? The day that happens is the day --you-- become a prefect, Malfoy!" Harry spat. A second later he realised what he'd just said - he'd just told Draco Malfoy how he'd really been treated by the Dursleys. Draco --Malfoy--, not Ron or Hermione or anyone else, but --Malfoy--, of all people.
Draco smiled in a ghostly way.
"It just so happens that I --am-- a prefect, Potter," he said quietly.
Harry's eyes widened in horror.
"You're . . . you're . . . you're a --prefect--?" he stuttered.
"Why is that so hard to believe?" Draco asked. "I mean, I study hard, I do well in Potions-"
Harry snorted.
"Yeah right, the only reason you do so well is probably because you shag Snape after classes," he said spitefully.
Draco cringed slightly.
"That . . . is a --horrible-- mental image. Please refrain from telling me about your sick fantasies, Potter," he said.
"F-f-fantasies?" Harry spluttered. "I think that you're the one who's sick, Malfoy. I bet that getting bought every single thing you see by your rich Daddy has messed up your mind!" he yelled.
Draco shook his head.
"He doesn't buy me --everything--. Even if he does, I never get the chance to use it, because I'm too busy being unconsio - er . . . sleeping. I'm too busy . . . sleeping . . . to use all my new things," Draco said, trying to cover up his mistake.
Harry snorted at this again.
"Doesn't buy you everything? Come on, Malfoy, --you're-- the one who gets treated like a king, not me!" he said.
"I see," Draco said quietly. So that's what Harr-uh, Potter thought of him. He shook his head quickly. "So, you are staying at the Leaky Cauldron, then?" he asked, getting back to the original topic.
"Why the hell do you want to know Malfoy? I can tell that you're staying there already - and why should I tell you where I'm staying? You and your spineless ox of a father will probably try to murder me in my sleep!" Harry accused, getting slightly angry again.
Draco's eyes dropped to the ground.
"That's probably true in my father's case," he muttered under his breath, but Harry heard. Draco brought his eyes up again. "Well Potter, how was your summer? Did you spend it in the Weasel's dump of a home? His mother still porky, then? The Weaselette still have a crush on you, then? Weasel still tower over you like the leaning tower of - what is it again? Pizza, then?" Draco drawled.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"No, actually, I didn't stay with the Weasleys. I'm meeting Ron in Diagon Alley in a week. Don't you dare insult his mother - at least she's caring and kind - which is more than I can say for your mother," Harry sneered.
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. But he shook his head.
"You stupid bastard," he said carelessly. He sighed. "You haven't been reading the Daily Prophet, have you?" Draco asked.
"No . . . why? Should I have been?" asked Harry, a puzzled expression on his face.
"My mother's dead. Murdered. Of course the papers say it's suicide, but . . ." Draco shook his head. Why the hell was he telling Harry - dammit, he meant POTTER - this?
"Damn," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry Malfoy . . . I didn't know," he whispered.
Draco shrugged, taking a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.
"No big deal. She died a few weeks ago, want one?" he asked, lighting himself a cigarette.
"What? N-no. Wait, your mother died - was murdered, even - and you're saying that it's no big deal?" Harry stared at Draco in disbelief. Draco casually took a puff of his cigarette (a muggle brand, Harry noticed).
"Hey, I don't mean it's no big deal, I just mean that . . ." Draco paused. "Never mind," he said, looking at the ground.
"Look, Malfoy, I really am sorry. I'm sure that your mum --was-- kind and caring - I was just mad at you for insulting Ron's family," Harry said sincerely.
A hint of a smile graced Draco's lips.
"Thanks," he near-whispered.
Harry cautiously gave him a half-smile.
"Boy! What are you doing?" came the cold hard voice of Lucius Malfoy.
Draco nearly jumped a foot in the air, but only looked a bit startled, then quickly regained his composure and turned around, dropping the cigarette on the ground behind his back.
"Father," he said, in way of greeting, digging his fingers into his hands so hard, he could've sworn he'd drawn blood. He sincerely hoped that smoke wouldn't come out of his mouth because of that bloody cigarette. His father didn't know he smoked. And if he knew that Draco smoked - muggle cigarettes, especially - he'd blow his top.
His father's eyes were turning a stormy grey . . . dammit. That only happens when he's --really-- mad, Draco thought.
"Boy, what . . . are . . . you . . . doing?" the older Malfoy hissed at his son.
"I was simply conversing with Harry. I believe you've heard of him," Draco said calmly, knowing that he was pushing his luck.
Lucius Malfoy stared at Harry with a look of utter contempt.
Harry stared back at him with an equal look of hatred.
"Draco . . . come with me, please," Lucius said, outwardly calm, but Draco could tell that he was seething inside.
Bastard. All I was doing was talking to Harry-dyeh, Potter, and he has to go all 'evil Dark Wizard' on me, Draco thought angrily.
He sighed, and turned around to Harry.
"I guess I'll see you at school, Potter," he drawled.
Harry nodded, frowning slightly.
Draco turned around, and followed his father around a corner.
Harry watched them go in slight suspicion, noticing how Draco became slightly paler in his father's presence. Draco clenching his hands was also an action that didn't go past Harry. Maybe he's scared of him, Harry unconsciously thought. After staring at the corner the two Malfoys went round a few more seconds, Harry shrugged, and continued walking the way he was walking before Draco bumped into him.
* * * * * * *
Oh fuck, he's really mad since he hasn't said a bloody word since we left Potter, Draco thought as he followed his father. His father was being completely silent, which, to Draco, meant danger. Lucius was walking through an alley that Draco had never been in before. He vaguely wondered if he was still supposed to be following his father, when Lucius finally stopped.
His father's cold grey eyes met his own silvery-blue ones.
"You have disappointed me, Draco," he said with an air of calmness around him.
Before Draco could protest, his father's fist suddenly hit him on the jaw so hard that his head flung backwards.
Draco quickly spun his head round to face Lucius again, eyes wide, his jaw turning red. What the hell was going on? That was the first time in his -- life-- that his father had ever hit him. Contrary to popular belief among the Slytherins, his father did --not-- clobber him every summer if he did anything wrong. He did something much worse (much worse for Draco, anyway). First he gave him such a verbal beating about being unworthy of the family name, making Draco feel like dirt, then he locked him up in the dungeons. If he was in a --really-- bad mood, he'd sometimes leave Draco in there for days on end, without any food or water. All Draco would be left with was his terrible claustrophobia. And, if he was lucky, an extra packet of fags in his pocket, which he usually carried around with him.
But not hit him. No. Lucius Malfoy never hit his son.
Until now.
"Father, what-" Draco didn't have time to finish his sentence, for his father's fist connected with his nose. There was a hideous crack, and Draco fell to the ground, blood spurting out of his nose.
"You - ruddy - bastard!" his father hissed, punctuating each word by kicking his son in the ribs. "How - dare - you - talk - to - me -with - such -disrespect! Especially in front of Harry Potter! How dare you . . . HOW DARE YOU! FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY!!!" Lucius yelled, in an outrage.
Draco was coughing - there were specs of blood flying out of his mouth. He wanted to yell at his father to stop, that he'd broken his ribs, that he hated him. But Lucius was far past any reasoning.
"Father, stop-" Draco didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence again, before Lucius grabbed him by his hair roughly, and slammed his knee into his son's face.
Draco's nose cracked from the contact, his eyes rolled up to the back of his head, and he slumped onto the ground, out cold.
Lucius dusted his robes, looking at the battered body of his son in disdain. He removed the silencing spell he had put around the area a few days ago, where he had murdered a mudblood (her body hadn't been found yet - all the wizarding world knew was that she was missing), and straightened his robes in a business-like way.
He looked at the unconscious form of his son. He was rather beautiful. That fair blonde hair of his was even lighter than Lucius's. And that body . . . well, apart from being a bit on the skinny side, his son's body was something that everyone wanted. Including himself.
Lucius smiled evilly as a plan began to form in his mind.
TBC
Disclaimer: (yay I finally remembered to include one!) The characters of this story DO NOT BELONG TO ME! They belong to the amazingly talented J K Rowling. The only thing I own is the PLOT. Yes, the plot is all mine! Mine, you hear? MINE!!! *insert evil laugh*
Perfection
Prologue
"You stupid boy! How could you be so utterly CARELESS?" Lucius Malfoy hollered at his son.
Draco resisted the urge to just roll his eyes. It wasn't his fault. How on earth was he supposed to know that the book he gave to Pansy Parkinson to borrow was a Dark Arts book? He had nothing to do with stuff like that.
"Don't you dare give me that look, you insolent brat!" Lucius yelled.
"I truly --am-- sorry father. I didn't mean to disappoint you by giving away one of your precious Dark Arts books," Draco said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I just never knew you were so close to each one, considering the library of them we have back home,"
"Don't you dare cheek me," Lucius said quietly, trying to control his anger. "I am your father! You should respect me, you piece of filth! You should be grateful that you're even alive now! If I knew that you were going to grow up like this, I would've just given up on you twelve years ago! Left you to be ripped into shreds by that werewolf!" he hissed, some spit flying from his mouth. "Left you and that stupid whore of a mother alone. Even if you had died then, she wouldn't have cared. And when you did, she would've just crawled back to me," Lucius sneered.
Draco's eyes narrowed. Even though Lucius's words cut him deep, he didn't let that show.
"Don't talk about my mother that way," he said dangerously.
"Excuse me! Are --you-- giving --me-- orders? I believe that --you-- are the son, and --I-- am the father!" Lucius hissed.
"You have no control over me, you bastard," Draco spat.
Lucius's eye twitched.
"Right, boy. If you are going to behave this way, I think that I'll leave you here for, hmmm . . . a few days," he said, and, quick as lightning, summoned Draco's wand out of his pocket, into his hand.
Draco lunged towards it, but Lucius pointed his own wand at him.
"Uh-uh-uh. You can have it back in three days. Goodnight Draco," Lucius said, closing the door, but not before casting a few barrier and locking spells around the room. Most probably very strong Dark Magic ones.
"Bastard," Draco whispered. He hated knowing that he was being confined. It made things ten times worse.
The walls around him suddenly seemed to be closing in. Closer and closer and closer . . . if he didn't do anything now, they would get him. Those walls. He hated them. They made him feel . . . suffocated.
He sat down on his bed, and opened a drawer in his bedside table.
"You have no control over me. Not at all," he said, pulling a can out of the drawer. The room was slowly starting to spin now, the walls still moving closer.
He emptied its contents into his hand, staring at the five white tablets intently.
"None whatsoever," he whispered, then tipped his hand back to his mouth, swallowing the tablets whole.
He fell back onto the bed.
And drifted into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1
Draco's eyes snapped open.
He was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat.
He had that dream again. The one where Voldemort killed . . . someone. Torturing them, for a long time, such a long time. It was always the same. Draco wanted to help the person, but he couldn't move. And, the thing was . . . he didn't know who he was trying to save. All he knew was that he simply had to save them because . . . well . . . he didn't know. He just had to.
"What day is it?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular. "Oh yeah . . . Wednesday," he turned to his side. "He's gonna let me out today," he whispered to himself.
Although his father was a conniving bastard, he was always true to his word. And it had been exactly three days since he had locked Draco in the room in the Leaky Cauldron, where they were staying for one week.
Draco sighed. He was hungry.
He got up out of bed and pulled his (muggle) shirt and trousers, which had been thrown onto the floor, on.
He rubbed his eyes so that he could see clearly.
As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't. The walls had started closing in on him again. Slowly, ever so slowly . . . but he knew that they were moving.
"Shit!" he moaned, stumbling back onto his bed.
He couldn't deal with this right now, he just couldn't deal with it, especially not after that dream.
He grabbed onto the handle of the drawer where he kept his tablets, pulled it open, tried to feel his way to the can of tablets while keeping his eyes closed. His hand closed around something cylindrical.
"Yes," he whispered.
He opened his eyes, tearing the lid off the can, tipping it into his hand . . .
There was nothing there.
"No!" he cried, eyes slightly wide.
He began to rummage around in his drawer, pulling another can out. It was empty. And another one. And another one.
He must have been asleep for a while. Sleep being the other word for 'unconscious'.
"Shit shit shit shit shit," he began muttering under his breath, searching for more cans. But they were all empty. "No," he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and laid back on his bed. "He'll be here soon. He'll let me out. He'll let me out. He will. He will," he began repeating to himself over and over again.
"Boy? Are you up?" came the cold voice of his father, stunning him. He opened his eyes and sat up. He swallowed silently.
"Yes father. I'm up," he said.
"Why are you wearing that despicable clothing? Put on some robes to look at least semi-decent. I trust that you have learned your lesson," Lucius sneered, ignoring the sheen of sweat on his son's forehead, and the unusual pale colour his skin was. Paler than usual, that is.
"Yes sir." Draco looked downwards as he said this. He didn't want to get on his father's bad side again.
Lucius threw him some black robes, which Draco pulled on, tying them at the front.
"Here's your wand. Go downstairs. Now. I want you to buy some special books for me from Borgin and Burkes," Lucius commanded.
Draco obediently stood up, following his father down the stairs. He'd finally be able to get some fresh air and space. Much better than the room that he was cooped up in.
"Now, here is a list of the books I need you to buy. Make sure you're back in your room by midnight. I will be away most of the day, since I have some . . . business I need to attend," Lucius said in an oily voice, handing his son the list.
Draco nodded, clenching the list in his hand tightly. Luckily, that action went unnoticed by Lucius Malfoy.
As he turned and made his way to the door, Tom the Leaky Cauldron keeper called to him, "'Ey there lad! Feeling better now? Hope you got that soup I sent up to you! Soup always makes you feel better when you're ill, my mother always said!"
Draco paused, nodded, then walked out of the door. His father had obviously fed Tom some cock-and-bull story about him being too ill to go down for breakfast, lunch and dinner. In truth, he had survived with no food apart from his tablets for three days. It didn't matter. He was used to this. It was a thousand times worse in the Manor, though. Draco shuddered slightly - he didn't need another reminder of that cold place he called 'home'.
He shook his head as he made his way down Diagon Alley, walking ever so slowly. Borgin and Burkes was a rather large shop, so he didn't have to worry about any walls closing in on him, but he still didn't really like being there - the air was filled with Dark Magic. It was slightly unnerving, not that Draco would admit that to anyone but himself.
As he was walking along, he started muttering things to himself. He was angry at his father. Hell, he was furious. It was so bloody unfair. How could his father just shrug off Draco's fear of enclosed spaces as weakness? Draco had read in one of his mother's books that it was an irrational psychological fear that couldn't be controlled or some crap like that. Before she died, of course.
Draco shook his head angrily. How dare his mother leave him all alone with Lucius? She knew about Draco's claustrophobia, and she knew that Lucius liked to use it against his son as much as possible, by locking him in the dungeons and everything else. How could she leave him? She was his mother. Draco sighed. It wasn't her fault, really. It was Voldemort's. Fucking Voldemort with his fucking values with his fucking opinions of what makes a good Malfoy. A loyal Malfoy.
He had decided that Draco's mother was treacherous, and had therefore killed her. Just like that. Well, at least she didn't suffer before she died, Draco thought.
"Fucking Voldemort. It's all his fault. Fucking Lucius. It's all his fault too. Didn't even try to stop the fucking Dark Lord from fucking killing his own fucking wife. Stupid man. 'Be a Death Eater, Draco, do this Draco, do that, Draco'. I'm not your fucking pawn, Lucius, I'm your son, and you aren't my master, you stupid mother-fucker," Draco was muttering to himself as he made his way down Diagon Alley, not even noticing someone coming towards him with a tower of books in their hands, preventing them from looking where they were going.
Draco harshly pushed past the person, causing them to drop all their books.
"Shit," they cursed softly.
Draco was going to ignore them, and carry on walking, but something made him stop. He looked up to the sky.
"Bloody hell, what's wrong with me?" he muttered.
Then he turned around, and went back to help the person pick their books up.
He kneeled down on the ground, picking up a number of books. Schoolbooks, he noticed.
"Here," Draco said, standing up, then holding his hand out to help the person get up.
"Thanks," he said, getting up. He suddenly let go of Draco's hands and gasped softly. "Malfoy?" he said disbelievingly.
Draco frowned, before he realised who he had helped. "Potter?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Here you go," he said, handing him some books.
Harry Potter took them, his mouth slightly open.
"Take a picture Potter, it lasts longer," Draco drawled. Hang on, wasn't he supposed to sneer? His eyes quickly skimmed Harry's body. Potter was looking fine. He had finally got a growth spurt and was now three inches taller than Draco.
Draco cursed silently. Damn. That would mean that he was the shortest person in Seventh Year. Draco had always been a small child, and now that Potter had grown, he'd look even smaller. Harry's jet-black hair was as dishevelled as always, and his eyes were as green as ever. Draco vaguely noticed that Harry's mouth was moving, but he couldn't make out the words. Harry's mouth. Mmmm . . . what it'd feel like to kiss those lips and . . . Draco frowned suddenly. No . . . he was NOT crushing on Potter.
Of course he was gay (who wasn't these days - not that he ever acted on it), but he certainly was not hot for POTTER, of all people.
Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.
"What?" he asked.
"Malfoy, you just zoned out there and started staring at me," Harry said. "Now, I was asking, why the hell did you just help me pick my books up?" he asked.
"I . . ." Draco started, before he realised that he didn't know. "I don't know," he said truthfully.
Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"Riiiiiiight," he said, evidently not believing the blonde-haired youth in front of him. The extremely pale and thin looking blonde-haired youth in front of him. With some sweat on his forehead. And with his blue-grey eyes. And with his nice mouth and medium-sized soft-looking lips. And with his- what? No, Harry, NO! Stop thinking these things!
Draco rolled his eyes.
"So, Potter, how are you? What are you doing in Diagon Alley?" he drawled, not sounding that interested (which he wasn't - well, not REALLY, anyway).
Harry's eyes widened at the sound of Malfoy actually making polite, civil conversation.
"What? Is THE Draco, Mr I-Own-The-World-With-My-Pureblood-Family-Line-And- Extremely-Gorgeous-Looks, Malfoy actually making CIVIL conversation?" Harry asked, surprise evident in his voice.
A hint of a smile graced Draco's lips.
"Why, Mister Potter . . . I had no idea that you thought of me being EXTREMELY gorgeous! Well, there must be something good about me if Golden Boy can go around announcing my greatness to the world," Draco said, looking faintly amused.
Harry felt a blush graze his cheeks. He sincerely hoped that Malfoy was colour-blind. So that he wouldn't realize that Harry was blushing - he hadn't meant it like that. All he meant was that Malfoy always swaggered around like he owned the place, with his blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, and lean legs and . . . dammit!
"I . . . I d-didn't mean it like that," Harry stuttered.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Of COURSE you didn't," he said, eyes still looking amused. "Why WOULD you? We can't have our very own Golden Boy turning into a FAG now, can we?" Draco asked sarcastically.
"Look, Malfoy, just piss off," Harry replied, getting annoyed with the Slytherin.
"Hey, take it easy Harry, I was just kidding," Draco put his arms up in a 'please don't shoot me' motion.
Harry blinked.
Draco blinked.
"You called me Harry," Harry said.
A slight pause.
"So I did," Draco said.
They stood there, staring at each other for a bit.
"So, ehm . . . what are you doing here, Har-erm, Har-err, Har . . . Harry Potter?" Draco asked, quickly recovering from his mistake. Not in the smartest way, mind you, but he still recovered from it.
"Why do you need to know, Malfoy?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed in a suspicious manner.
Draco shrugged.
"Just asking," he said. "You're probably staying at the Leaky Cauldron, aren't you? Hear you got tired of being treated like a king by those muggles you live with," he said in a casual manner.
Harry frowned, suddenly feeling quite angry.
"King? King?!" he spat. "Tired of having to do my homework in the middle of the night, tired of not being allowed to be left in the house alone, tired of not being allowed --out-- of the house alone, tired of being treated like a --slave--, maybe, but a king? The day that happens is the day --you-- become a prefect, Malfoy!" Harry spat. A second later he realised what he'd just said - he'd just told Draco Malfoy how he'd really been treated by the Dursleys. Draco --Malfoy--, not Ron or Hermione or anyone else, but --Malfoy--, of all people.
Draco smiled in a ghostly way.
"It just so happens that I --am-- a prefect, Potter," he said quietly.
Harry's eyes widened in horror.
"You're . . . you're . . . you're a --prefect--?" he stuttered.
"Why is that so hard to believe?" Draco asked. "I mean, I study hard, I do well in Potions-"
Harry snorted.
"Yeah right, the only reason you do so well is probably because you shag Snape after classes," he said spitefully.
Draco cringed slightly.
"That . . . is a --horrible-- mental image. Please refrain from telling me about your sick fantasies, Potter," he said.
"F-f-fantasies?" Harry spluttered. "I think that you're the one who's sick, Malfoy. I bet that getting bought every single thing you see by your rich Daddy has messed up your mind!" he yelled.
Draco shook his head.
"He doesn't buy me --everything--. Even if he does, I never get the chance to use it, because I'm too busy being unconsio - er . . . sleeping. I'm too busy . . . sleeping . . . to use all my new things," Draco said, trying to cover up his mistake.
Harry snorted at this again.
"Doesn't buy you everything? Come on, Malfoy, --you're-- the one who gets treated like a king, not me!" he said.
"I see," Draco said quietly. So that's what Harr-uh, Potter thought of him. He shook his head quickly. "So, you are staying at the Leaky Cauldron, then?" he asked, getting back to the original topic.
"Why the hell do you want to know Malfoy? I can tell that you're staying there already - and why should I tell you where I'm staying? You and your spineless ox of a father will probably try to murder me in my sleep!" Harry accused, getting slightly angry again.
Draco's eyes dropped to the ground.
"That's probably true in my father's case," he muttered under his breath, but Harry heard. Draco brought his eyes up again. "Well Potter, how was your summer? Did you spend it in the Weasel's dump of a home? His mother still porky, then? The Weaselette still have a crush on you, then? Weasel still tower over you like the leaning tower of - what is it again? Pizza, then?" Draco drawled.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"No, actually, I didn't stay with the Weasleys. I'm meeting Ron in Diagon Alley in a week. Don't you dare insult his mother - at least she's caring and kind - which is more than I can say for your mother," Harry sneered.
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. But he shook his head.
"You stupid bastard," he said carelessly. He sighed. "You haven't been reading the Daily Prophet, have you?" Draco asked.
"No . . . why? Should I have been?" asked Harry, a puzzled expression on his face.
"My mother's dead. Murdered. Of course the papers say it's suicide, but . . ." Draco shook his head. Why the hell was he telling Harry - dammit, he meant POTTER - this?
"Damn," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry Malfoy . . . I didn't know," he whispered.
Draco shrugged, taking a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.
"No big deal. She died a few weeks ago, want one?" he asked, lighting himself a cigarette.
"What? N-no. Wait, your mother died - was murdered, even - and you're saying that it's no big deal?" Harry stared at Draco in disbelief. Draco casually took a puff of his cigarette (a muggle brand, Harry noticed).
"Hey, I don't mean it's no big deal, I just mean that . . ." Draco paused. "Never mind," he said, looking at the ground.
"Look, Malfoy, I really am sorry. I'm sure that your mum --was-- kind and caring - I was just mad at you for insulting Ron's family," Harry said sincerely.
A hint of a smile graced Draco's lips.
"Thanks," he near-whispered.
Harry cautiously gave him a half-smile.
"Boy! What are you doing?" came the cold hard voice of Lucius Malfoy.
Draco nearly jumped a foot in the air, but only looked a bit startled, then quickly regained his composure and turned around, dropping the cigarette on the ground behind his back.
"Father," he said, in way of greeting, digging his fingers into his hands so hard, he could've sworn he'd drawn blood. He sincerely hoped that smoke wouldn't come out of his mouth because of that bloody cigarette. His father didn't know he smoked. And if he knew that Draco smoked - muggle cigarettes, especially - he'd blow his top.
His father's eyes were turning a stormy grey . . . dammit. That only happens when he's --really-- mad, Draco thought.
"Boy, what . . . are . . . you . . . doing?" the older Malfoy hissed at his son.
"I was simply conversing with Harry. I believe you've heard of him," Draco said calmly, knowing that he was pushing his luck.
Lucius Malfoy stared at Harry with a look of utter contempt.
Harry stared back at him with an equal look of hatred.
"Draco . . . come with me, please," Lucius said, outwardly calm, but Draco could tell that he was seething inside.
Bastard. All I was doing was talking to Harry-dyeh, Potter, and he has to go all 'evil Dark Wizard' on me, Draco thought angrily.
He sighed, and turned around to Harry.
"I guess I'll see you at school, Potter," he drawled.
Harry nodded, frowning slightly.
Draco turned around, and followed his father around a corner.
Harry watched them go in slight suspicion, noticing how Draco became slightly paler in his father's presence. Draco clenching his hands was also an action that didn't go past Harry. Maybe he's scared of him, Harry unconsciously thought. After staring at the corner the two Malfoys went round a few more seconds, Harry shrugged, and continued walking the way he was walking before Draco bumped into him.
* * * * * * *
Oh fuck, he's really mad since he hasn't said a bloody word since we left Potter, Draco thought as he followed his father. His father was being completely silent, which, to Draco, meant danger. Lucius was walking through an alley that Draco had never been in before. He vaguely wondered if he was still supposed to be following his father, when Lucius finally stopped.
His father's cold grey eyes met his own silvery-blue ones.
"You have disappointed me, Draco," he said with an air of calmness around him.
Before Draco could protest, his father's fist suddenly hit him on the jaw so hard that his head flung backwards.
Draco quickly spun his head round to face Lucius again, eyes wide, his jaw turning red. What the hell was going on? That was the first time in his -- life-- that his father had ever hit him. Contrary to popular belief among the Slytherins, his father did --not-- clobber him every summer if he did anything wrong. He did something much worse (much worse for Draco, anyway). First he gave him such a verbal beating about being unworthy of the family name, making Draco feel like dirt, then he locked him up in the dungeons. If he was in a --really-- bad mood, he'd sometimes leave Draco in there for days on end, without any food or water. All Draco would be left with was his terrible claustrophobia. And, if he was lucky, an extra packet of fags in his pocket, which he usually carried around with him.
But not hit him. No. Lucius Malfoy never hit his son.
Until now.
"Father, what-" Draco didn't have time to finish his sentence, for his father's fist connected with his nose. There was a hideous crack, and Draco fell to the ground, blood spurting out of his nose.
"You - ruddy - bastard!" his father hissed, punctuating each word by kicking his son in the ribs. "How - dare - you - talk - to - me -with - such -disrespect! Especially in front of Harry Potter! How dare you . . . HOW DARE YOU! FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY!!!" Lucius yelled, in an outrage.
Draco was coughing - there were specs of blood flying out of his mouth. He wanted to yell at his father to stop, that he'd broken his ribs, that he hated him. But Lucius was far past any reasoning.
"Father, stop-" Draco didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence again, before Lucius grabbed him by his hair roughly, and slammed his knee into his son's face.
Draco's nose cracked from the contact, his eyes rolled up to the back of his head, and he slumped onto the ground, out cold.
Lucius dusted his robes, looking at the battered body of his son in disdain. He removed the silencing spell he had put around the area a few days ago, where he had murdered a mudblood (her body hadn't been found yet - all the wizarding world knew was that she was missing), and straightened his robes in a business-like way.
He looked at the unconscious form of his son. He was rather beautiful. That fair blonde hair of his was even lighter than Lucius's. And that body . . . well, apart from being a bit on the skinny side, his son's body was something that everyone wanted. Including himself.
Lucius smiled evilly as a plan began to form in his mind.
TBC