Disclaimer: No one belongs to me, all character's belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is my first fic for fanfiction.net, I'm trying it out on you guys too, along with some others. I need all the help I can get-please review with comments/critisism, I appreciate it all.
Defeat Time-Lailaith
Prologue: To Hell With it All
~I'm not afraid of dying. It's living I'm terrified of.~
White lightning ripped across the sky as sudden thunder echoed in the dungeons. A forebrooding statement that could be heard, yet not seen in the damp darkness of the dorms the Head Boy of Slytherin occupied. Lying on his bed, Draco's face contorted in a matter of pure frustration, anger and hate. The last letter he had recieved from his father lay open, the parchment was worn thin and slightly damp from being held by clammy, sweating hands. The blond boy's breathing came in shallow, shuddering gasps, as if a great pressure was being held on his chest, pushing the life out of him. And it was. Ever so slowly. Pale eyes re-read the letter for the fifth time since it's arrival.
Draco,
The time is drawing closer. You have less than one month
to prepare for your final task. The Dark Lord is anxious
to see where your capabilites and loyalties lie, I'm
anxious as well. I'm worried with your behavior, boy,
don't you dare shame this family. You know what will happen
if you do. Watch your step. Don't say you haven't been warned.
I'll be in touch. -Father
Draco desperately tried to grab onto a strand of hope, a stretch of a dream that could take away this life he knew. But reality closed in. All he could do was dream. Nothing could help him to escape this hell that had been looming closer since his fourth year. Lucius Malfoy expected Draco to be the next generation of Death Eaters, wanting the new tradition to be passed on from him, to Draco, to his son. If only he knew what went through Draco's head. Dreams of defying his tyrant father. Dreams of defeating the Dark Lord himself. Dreams of freedom. But those dreams always ended the same. The laughing face of Lucius would haunt the trails of happiness, jolting Draco back to conciousness. That thought made the boy's stomach lurch.
He threw open the door to the adjoining bathroom, grabbing a wastebasket as his stomach heaved. His shoulders hunched, and hot tears streaming down his face, he fell to the floor. His stomach spasmed again, and again, until he felt as if his lungs would come up next. After some time, Draco finally stood, gripping the sink with normally delicate fingers.
Running his forearm across his mouth, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Platinum strands stuck to his ghostly pale, wet face. Usually blazing eyes had lost their brightness, replaced by a dull glazed look. Shirt plastered to a sweat soaked body. Draco slowly undid the buttons of his shirt with fumbling fingers, leaning his head against the cool glass of the mirror for support. He threw his shirt on the floor, the rest of his clothes following, falling in a heap next to the sink. Stumbling to the shower, Draco managed to turn the tap to cold, hoping the frigid temperature would relieve the burning in his head.
Standing under the jet of freezing water, the icy blasts dug into his back and neck like a thousand knives. Frantic thoughts started running through Draco's mind. Less than a month...final task...watch your step...have they been watching me this whole time...His voice echoed in his own head. What the hell am I supposed to do now? It's not like I can stop him...I'll be killed either way. Slamming his eyes shut, Draco let the water continue to stab him, welcoming the pain.
After a while, fatigue finally crept over the boy. He turned off the tap and stood dripping while he reached for a towel. After drying himself and brushing his teeth, he returned to his dorm, where he slipped into a pair of silky, black pajamas before climbing into bed for the night. Looking beside his pillow, he saw the letter that still lay open. Grabbing his wand, he torched the letter in anger, letting the ashes fall onto the floor.
Lying back on his bed, Draco finally managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep.
All he saw was him and his father, standing before Voldemort. Draco was on bended knee, the marks of abuse visible on his face and arms. He looked up in time to see his father minister a final blow, that cruel, sadistic look in his eyes. He was laughing.
Draco's eyes flew open, his breath coming hard.
"Damn you, father."