WARNING: This story contains child abuse, rape, and torture. If you can't stand even one than do not read this fic! Also, this fic is going to take a while to set up so please have patience.

I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastics Inc, Warner Bros., and any other entities involved. Nor do I own Fairyland by Angelzoom.

Also, flash backs will be in italics.

Colder than Ice
The World falls apart
Cold like a Stone
The spell on the Souls
Colder than ice
Your hand on my Heart
A world made of stone
Let tenderness freeze

Save the Fairyland we live in
Where all failings are forgiven
Feel like hunted by a Griffin
I fall down
Straight down
Save the Fairyland we live in
Where my failings are forgiven
Feel like hunted by a Griffin
I'm falling straight down

Catch my Daydream
Catch my Fall

Colder than Ice
Night all around
Cold like a stone
The Heart of success
Wasteland of Ice
We fall to the Ground
A World made of Stone
Let Tenderness freeze

Falling down
Falling down
Catch me
When I'm falling down
Please come to me...

Angelzoom "Fairyland"

Previous Scene's End: (Harry's POV)

But he wasn't here, just Draco. My eyes frantically shift across the room as I begin to retreat. Vernon wasn't here! He's not! But—!

A choking sob escapes me as I shift myself under the desk. Hide. If I could just hide. Frantically, I draw the beaten desk chair towards me.

"No!" I begged. "No, please!" But there was no mercy as I was pinned beneath a mammoth body. Angry curses reach my ears, but they make no sense. Almost like watching a silent movie when the camera has been dropped. "Please no!" I cry louder, screaming in the hopes that someone would hear me. "Help…me."

The body above me crouches lower, suffocating me with its weight. A slap races across my face and the world freezes, seeming to balance on a precipice. Or maybe it's a pendulum. Did my mind just ricochet about the inside of my skull? Nothing makes sense. Angry screams filled my ears—or where they my own pleas?

And then it was there, pressure around my neck, suffocating me. I wanted to scream, but I might as well have been a mime for all the good it did me, a mime performing in a holocaust gas chamber. I failed to reach out when my arms proved to be too heavy. Or were they still pinned by the body above me? I couldn't tell. Spots filled my vision and as I slipped from consciousness. I couldn't help but wonder if I would finally be allowed to die.

Previous Scene's End: (Draco's POV)

"No, please!"

"No ones going to hurt you, Potter," At least, not yet.

The sobs became louder. Frustrated, I grab at his forearm. May I just say that as a Malfoy, I am not privy to the illogical thoughts of lesser beings, but grabbing his arm was not really a mistake, no matter what it may seem to you. Unfortunately, the ear piercing scream that erupted did manage to force me to the other end of the cell.

"Fuck, Potter! What are you, a banshee?" Throwing my hands up in disgust, I gracefully flop down onto the bed and use a few well placed silencing charms.

I slept like a burdened war king that night.

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Harry's POV

I'd like to say it was odd waking up under my desk, and maybe the first time it had been. But this wasn't the first time.

Hermione had seen it once. I remember looking into her eyes and wondering what could be so fucked up that it could create odd mixture of shock, pity, grief, and fear. I knew when I saw that look that I hated it and I hated her for feeling it.

There's nothing fucking wrong with me and I am sick of people trying to tell me otherwise. Yeah, I may be a no good freak, but I am not fucked up! Of course, Herm couldn't accept that. After all, normal people, as if there is such a fucking thing, don't fly into random sprees of emotions that leave them curled up in a corner on the floor. So, needless to say, Hermione had to research my new found condition.

Not two days later Hermione informed me that my odd fits are actually what you call triggers, or panic attacks depending on how strong the trigger is.

"You see, Harry, when a young, intelligent, and creative mind is faced with a traumatic experience they might do what is referred to as repression. This is where the mind represses the traumatic memory so that the child can continue uninhibited and functional."

"Okay." I mumbled while ducking my head. Did she really have to be talking about this in the hallway?

"One of the larger problems with this coping method is that when the child is older and more capable of handling the memory it starts to resurface, kind of like a bubble. The child will then begin to experience the triggers and panic attacks, I mentioned earlier."

"Um, Herm?" I noticed that the potions classroom was fast approaching.

"A trigger is when the child is emotionally reliving the traumatic memory and a panic attack is the same except for being much stronger. For example, in addition to feeling the emotions they would also be able hear, smell, see, and/or touch the memory. It's called a trigger because it is 'triggered' by small occurrences that don't seem like much but are actually connected to the memory. For example, if a person's arms were restrained while being raped a later trigger for them could be as simple as someone grabbing their wrist."

"Ah, Herm, could we talk about this later?"

"And that Harry, is what I call avoidance. Your mind does not want you to face this issue so it is trying to avoid the subject."

"No, Herm, really—"

"Now, the solution is for you to face your memory. We can do this through talk in therapy sessions or, which I think is the more viable option, we could attempt a new treatment called Theophostic."

It was at this moment that I saw Malfoy walk around the corner with a malicious grin plastered across his face.

"Um, Herm?"

"Now really Harry, the therapy sessions are nothing to be ashamed of and, while your therapist is supposed to be a trained specialist in Theophostic, I'm sure I can manage."

"No, Herm!"

"And don't worry, Harry, your memories are probably not that horrible, just a little neglect."

"HERM!"

"What?" Hermione's chocolate eyes glared at me in offense while Malfoy's smirk grew wider and wider. All that I could think was that I was doomed, utterly and completely doomed.

"Therapy, Potty?"

Hermione twisted to face Malfoy, surprise tensing her muscles.

"No actually." While Malfoy's only response was the raising of a single eyebrow, Hermione twisted back towards me with a million accusations perched upon her tongue.

"Look, what happened a few nights ago was a vision from Voldiwarts." Both of Malfoy's eyebrows shot into the air at the nickname. "I'm sorry if you thought otherwise."

Tears started to form in Hermione's eyes and I wondered for a moment why seeing me as a fucked up person was so important to her. Was I just another class subject to be studied?

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I kinda never got the chance."

Hermione glared at me once more before storming off in a huff.

"It's a pity Potty, I'd think someone as fucked up as you could use those therapy sessions." And with those parting words Malfoy sauntered into the classroom, leaving me with far too many riled emotions.

Memory Lane; I fucking hate memory lane. Hell, I think I just hate everything, simply because it is a lot easier than making a list. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts of the past, I slowly crawl out from under the desk, all the while making as little noise as possible.

Time to start the day... By waking up Malfoy; the day was looking better already.

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Draco's POV

I hate mornings. I know as the Malfoy heir I'm supposed to be productive at all times of the day, but I really despise being woken up by sunlight in my eyes with the obnoxious accompaniment of pesky Griffindors. Grumbling, I flop onto my side, hoping to at least escape the blasted sunlight.

"You awake?"

"No, Potter, my body is being animated by the Dark Lord."

"Just checking." I could practically feel that bastard's grin. "Not a morning person are you?"

I drag the pathetic excuse for a pillow over my ears. "Go away."

A malicious chuckle escapes my new acquaintance. "Afraid I can't."

If I had the energy, I would have made Potter's ears blush with the string of curses running through my head. As it was, all I could manage was to flick him off. The bastard had the gumption to laugh… again.

"Come on Malfoy get up."

"Why?" I growled only to have the pillow that was so graciously hiding my face from the sun stolen, now I could see that bastard's grin.

"Cause I need you out of this house before my family wakes up."

"Potter, look around you! We're in a prison cell. I don't think mommy dearest is going to care about any parties you threw last night." I pause for a moment before adding the last bit of my amazing wit. "Oh that's right, you don't have a mommy."

Upon reflection, and the not so soft smack to the back of my head, perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say.

"Actually, what you so kindly referred to as a prison cell is my bedroom. You really aren't a morning person are you?" The bastard was still laughing, but I finally found a reason to leave the pathetically thin bed. Damn, did it feel good to see Potter hit the floor. It might even have been worth the sting in my knuckles, unfortunately, it was not worth the hurling and spinning room that also resulted.

"Hang over?" Potter hummed from his position on the floor.

"If you realize that then get off your ass and get me a potion!"

"Seeing as we are at a muggle residence, there are no potions." Potter was laughing again.

"Bastard." I mutter.

"Prick." He answers.

Glowering, I turn to face Potter from my splayed position on the floor. "You know what, Potty."

Laughter danced through his eyes as he asked, "What?"

"Your nickname is no longer Potty, Pothead, Scar-head, or any other variations of my previously witty repartee."

"Aw, Malfoy, I didn't realize you were warming up to me so quickly."

Ignoring Potter's interruption I continued on, "From now on you shall be known as Bastard."

Laughter rang out from his lips once more. "As you wish, Prick."

"Bastard." I mutter.

He smirks at me. "Prick."

Growling, I pick myself up off the floor. "Well, Bastard, you must have something for a hang over."

Grinning, Potter sits up without a care in the world, which manages to annoy me even more. "Actually, I know a concoction that Uncle Vernon uses for his hang over's. Come down to the kitchen and I'll make you one."

I eye Potter for a moment, debating whether it was safe or not to drink anything he hands to me, before nodding my agreement.

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Harry's POV

Smiling I glance at the front door while mopping the hardwood floor. The family was in the kitchen eating their breakfast, but I had no wish to join them. No, what I wanted to do was to walk out that door and curl up in the park while waiting for Malfoy.

Glaring down at my work, I quickly try to pull my mind away from such dangerous thoughts. "Malfoy equals Death eater, you dumb shit." I mumble under my breath.

Quickly casting out for another subject to occupy myself I allow my relative's conversation to drift to the forethoughts of my mind.

"Dudley, darling, would you mind too terribly much going outside?"

"Why?" My cousin whined.

"Because, honey, Daddy and Mommy need to have a talk."

I could just imagine my cousin's pudgy face scrunched in a deformed pout. A moment passes before I hear a slow shuffling of feet and the back door opening and closing.

A tense moment passes between my relatives before my Uncle speaks up. "Well dear, what is it you wished to speak about?"

"I saw him."

"Him?" My uncle asks in confusion.

"Your old associate, Mr. Johnston."

A moment passes before my uncle answers. "I hope he wasn't terribly ill mannered."

"No, no. Not at first. I was out with the girls, just doing some shopping, when I happened upon him. We exchanged pleasantries and were about to part when he asked to speak with me. I could hardly refuse without seeming rude." My aunt pauses for a moment and I could almost imagine her looking down at her placemat. "He was begging for help, again."

"Did he hurt you?" My uncle asked with fury evident in his voice.

"No, no. Its just, Vernon, that could have been us. Please, we must do something to—"

"Absolutely not!" I could hear Uncle Vernon's chair scrape and the plates rattle as he stood up.

"But—"

"I said no!" Furious my Uncle stormed down the hall and I quickly busied myself with the floor, praying that I would be ignored.

When such prayers were not answered, all I could remember was why some little girls were not allowed to have teddy bears.

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Author's Note:

So, incase you forgot who Mr. Johnston is you might want to reread chapter 3.

By the way, the idea for the Prick and Bastard nicknames was shamelessly barrowed from the Black Jewels Trilogy. If you haven't read this book series then you need to hit up the nearest Borders (or B&N if you prefer them). It is one of the best book series I have ever read.

Also, I want to say thank you to my new and amazing beta, MoonlitxPursuit!

Thank you so much for the reviews! They really help me keep the story going. I hoped you liked this chapter.