Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.
A/N: Each chapter will be around 1000 words long – I am capable of writing much, much longer, but I wanted to challenge myself by keeping them short! Also, the title of each chapter will be the name of the song that I listened to while writing it. Please feel under no obligations to listen to them, though. The name of the singer for this chapter is Gary Jules.
EDIT: I'm going back through this fic from the very beginning and giving it a bit of a freshen up, as there are a heck of a lot of mistakes! The plan is that I'll restart updating once I finish tidying up the most recent chapter.
By Moonlight
1
Mad World
Tense muscles relaxed, and fast, sharp breathing slowed into a long sigh—
Just breathe...
In, and out.
—And again—
In, and out.
—Heavy eyelids lifted. The silver eyes beneath skipped over the darkness.
In, and out.
Draco's heart thumped hard and fast from the remnants of his dream – from the remnants of his nightmare – but with every moment that passed he could feel the nervous clamour inside of him calming. Quelling.
In, and out.
Fingers with only the barest hint of a tremble reached up to run over his neck. He knew it wasn't real, but... But somehow...
In, and out.
But somehow he could still feel the snake fangs an inch deep in his throat.
It had felt so real; it did every time.
In, and out...
Releasing one final breath, Draco Malfoy let the darkness soak into his skin like a cooling balm on his frayed nerves. His forehead was clammy with a cold sweat that stuck his pale hair to his brow, and the bed sheets were caught in tangles around his legs. Like arms. Or coils.
The eighteen-year-old gulped and pushed himself upright when the darkness around him started to shift into looming, flickering figures. He knew it was his imagination, but…
He felt caged in, his chest tight with memories and images and voices and feelings and regrets and—
— and he desperately clawed aside the thick, plush bed curtains; moonlight flooded over him in a pale glow of—it's okay now—light from the enchanted window.
It was okay, because here he was, not trapped liked he'd thought, but in a frighteningly familiar room. It had been his home for years, and had only ever offered him comfort and protection. Even when he was at his worst during sixth year, the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle's mulish snores and Nott's restless mumbling were there to comfort him.
But now, the room was silent.
No Vince.
No Greg.
No Theo.
None of the other Death Eater's children. He didn't want to remember the fate of the other boys, because whenever he did, he recalled that he was the lucky one. They might not have been his friends, but they were damn close. The closest he'd ever had, in fact. And now they were either dead or condemned to rot in the darkest corners of Azkaban.
And here was Draco, somehow spared from Azkaban; on nights like this, his sanity was the price. Draco was sure that the guilt was consuming him from the inside out, because he didn't deserve this freedom!
The only company that the blond had from his own thoughts was the silencing and locking charms humming with quiet ferocity around Zabini's bed.
Zabini, the only Slytherin boy in Draco's year to remain neutral from the very beginning, and until the very end. The only one who'd never once attempted to befriend Draco, or to pander to him, or to confront him. There had always been nods of greeting and acceptance during their earlier years, but the dark skinned boy had always remained steadfastly on the outskirts, observing from a distance.
When the Dark Lord had returned, Zabini had somehow made himself as scarce as possible around his housemates. He'd had enough sense to cast protective spells around his bed and his belongings from that point on; no one aside from Draco had seemed to pay him any mind, because Zabini had always been fastidious when it came to his personal space. After all, he'd cast silencing charms every night for as long as Draco could remember.
No, Zabini had always been watchful and wary. It was just amplified now more than ever. The nods were gone, the social graces cast aside, and all that remained was his watchfulness. His wariness.
Upon returning to British wizarding society from wherever it was he'd disappeared to in the summer following the war, Zabini had made it astonishingly clear to everyone near him that he felt Draco wasn't to be trusted. In the few days since they'd returned to Hogwarts to complete their final year, the most he'd offered Draco was the faint curl of his lip.
Really, the blond was sure he deserved it. He couldn't bring himself to resent Zabini his suspicions or his self-preserving actions. After all, why would the other boy draw unfavourable attention to himself by associating with a confirmed Death Eater when he was already in a precarious position, simply by being part of Slytherin house?
There wasn't a single person who didn't watch the entirety of Slytherin house with mistrust anymore. Not one.
And if even the innocent, first year Slytherins were being shunned then that made Draco doubly reviled by the general populace.
He was doubted and scorned by every last person that passed him, and he couldn't bring himself to blame them. He wasn't exactly number one in his own books recently, let alone anyone else's.
But honestly? The eighteen year old couldn't bring himself to care.
Their opinions didn't matter to him. He was living his very own kind of hell here, trapped inside of his head. He had no space for other peoples' hatred too. And it wasn't like he could change their opinions by worrying about it.
So he attended his classes, ate the bare minimum at breakfast, lunch and dinner, ignored the world around him, studied and slept until he was forced awake by his nightmares. He was on autopilot, just like everyone else that had returned here. At least he saw that, though. At least he knew that the war had messed him up. At least he didn't laugh and smile and pretend like everything was alright. Because he knew that behind those masks of happiness, they were feeling pain and distress too. Perhaps he should envy them for being able to ignore it, but he didn't want their denial. He deserved this – it was his punishment for the life he'd allowed himself to be led into without even the slightest hint of resistance. And after he'd mourned the loss of his old lifestyle and his old delusions, he would pick himself up and put his life back together. He had no plans to remain broken forever.
Draco rubbed at his stinging eyes and stood up, gathering his wand and his cloak from where he'd left it to crease on the floor. Draping the thick, dark material over his shoulders and stepping into his shoes, Draco walked towards the dormitory door. He cast a nonverbal disillusionment charm on himself as he went.
After all, there was really no point going back to bed when he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep for the rest of the night. Which was a shame, really. As terrifying as his nightmares were, at least when he was in them he wasn't being tormented by his guilt and loneliness and fears.
...
A/N: Please leave a review. Let me know what you think!
(Edited 22nd Jan 2017)