Oh dear the drama. It's coming, just you wait. Review!

Draco didn't leave the room once the next day. He hadn't eaten or drank anything in over two days. There had been a few times that day when Bill's footsteps could be heard outside the door and his voice filtered through the cracks. He would ask to come in, and every time Draco would say nothing, just continue to stare at the dark ceiling.

He could tell that night had just fallen because the room's red glow had been fading until there was complete darkness. And still the boy just stared at the ceiling, not moving an inch. He could hear noises from the floor below. They were growing louder and he heard footsteps on the stairs, accompanied by voices.

"-doesn't answer when I knock. I didn't want to bother him, but I'm starting to get worried."

"Well of course you are! The poor thing hasn't eaten all day!" The second voice belonged to a woman. The footsteps stopped in front of the door and there was a quiet knock.

"Draco? Can we come in? My mother's here and she'd like to look at your head." The boy didn't answer. There was a shuffling of cloth and Mrs. Weasley spoke again, her motherly voice worried.

"Draco dear? Won't you say something?"

"Please go away." Draco's voice was small from disuse. He moved for the first time in hours, rolling onto his side, his back to the door. He curled up, his knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He didn't want them to come in. He didn't want that kind woman taking care of him. That kind, sweet woman who he had insulted on so many different occasions, just so that people wouldn't look at him to closely. He didn't want her to come and take away his pain. He deserved this pain, just like he deserved starving to death in a dark little room.

"Draco", Bills voice was now firm, "We're coming in." And the door creaked open. Light spilled across the wall that the boy was facing and he shut his eyes against the offending brightness. Warmth rushed into the room and Mrs. Weasley gasped.

"It's freezing in here! The windows are wide open!" Draco could hear her bustling across the room, opening the curtains and slamming the windows shut. He had opened them early that morning, desperate to rid himself of the comforting warmth that made him want to cry. Softer footsteps followed the woman's, but these ones walked around the bed and stopped next to it. He could hear a shifting of air and cloth, as though someone was kneeling by his head. Painfully warm finger tips burnt against the icy skin of his cheek. Mrs. Weasley was still bustling around the room; doing what, Draco had no idea. Then Bill spoke, in a voice so low that only Draco heard.

"Why are you doing this? Do you think you deserve it? Because you don't…" The boy's eyes opened and he looked up. Bill was gazing down at him, pain etched into his scarred face. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Draco realized that Mrs. Weasley was talking.

"-hasn't eaten all day and frozen half to death! Bill you should have forced your way into this room! I'm going to make some food and I'll see to his head while he's eating. Really! Should have broke down the door…" Mrs. Weasley left, still mumbling under her breath in an affronted voice. The room was silent for a minute, Bill's fingers still burning on Draco's cheek. The man seemed to be waiting for something.

"I-I'm sorry…" He stuttered weakly. Bill sighed, finally taking his hand away from the boy's face. He ran his fingers through his long hair, which for once wasn't tied back in a pony tail.

"Alright Draco. Just don't starve yourself anymore. And you shouldn't stay holed up in this room either." Draco nodded, and soon Mrs. Weasley was back and practically force-feeding him, exclaiming loudly over how thin and cold he was. She examined his head and face, shrinking his bump and nearly getting rid of the bruise on his cheek. It now appeared old; it was yellow and tinged with brown and already fading.

Mrs. Weasley left as Draco's eyelids staring drooping, still giving Bill orders on how to take care of him. The healing and the food had combined to make him very sleepy. He sank back onto his pillows and closed his eyes. He heard Bill walk back up the stairs and into the room, turning out the light with a flick of his wand.

"Good night Draco. Come downstairs when you wake up tomorrow or I'll come up and carry you down." Draco nodded sleepily as the man left, already feeling guilt growing in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed back the bile that was rising in his throat.

***

He had done what he was told the next day. He went downstairs when he woke and ate breakfast, sitting silently at the small kitchen table. He went outside to get some air, as Bill instructed, but soon found that he had to flee inside once more. He still couldn't stand to look at the ocean, so he had walked towards the cliff face instead. As he had walked something caught his eye. It was a rounded white stone set on a slightly raised mound of earth. It looked like a makeshift tombstone…

He walked close enough to read it, and the words pierced through him like a sword. 'HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.' Draco couldn't breathe. One of his hands shot up to cover his mouth, the other wrapped around his stomach as though holding himself together. Even here. Even here in this peaceful remote cottage his past found him, dragged him back. That horrible house elf, haunting him from the grave. Why was he here? That vile little creature who had seen his shame. How he had despised it.

He ran back to the house, and made it to the bathroom just in time. He retched over and over again until he was completely empty. His throat ached and his whole body shook. And then he realized that there were warm hands at his neck, holding back his silvery hair. Draco stumbled to his feet, his knees trembling so bad that they could barely take his weight. He turned on the tap and rinsed out his mouth, his hands shaking so violently that it was a miracle that any water reached his lips at all.

"What happened?" Bill's voice was determinedly calm and after a few more seconds Draco stopped rinsing out his mouth. He placed his hands on the sink and kept his eyes down.

"Dobby", he croaked, refusing to raise his eyes to the mirror. Bill was silent for a minute.

"Oh." More silence. And then footsteps. For a second Draco thought the man was leaving, then warm hands spun him around and strong arms encircled him. His eyes widened as he was pressed to the man's chest. And then, to his great shame, hot tears overflowed onto his pale cheeks. He was crying, after he had promised himself he would never cry again. He was so weak. He hid his tears, pressing his face into Bill's clean robes. Bill's hand was stroking his head, comforting him. Draco clung to the man with trembling fingers, sobbing earnestly.

He was so weak…