Victim of the Game

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks or Warner Brothers, J.K. Rowling and their respective publishers. Copyright 2000, all rights reserved. The lyrics to follow are copyright Garth Brooks and his respective Agents. No attempt has been made to redistribute for sale or publication. This story is simply that: a story. Some artistic liberties have been taken with characters and music, and for that, deepest apologies are presented. Please enjoy the story for what it is… a vague and all together inadequate attempt to bring to life something that may or may not be feasible in the future of the characters we all enjoy reading about. Many thanks and regards, Keira Aislin.

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Draco Malfoy threw the beautiful mahogany box against the wall and listened comfortingly for the smash it made against the wall. He took a deep breath and tried counting to ten. He only got to five before he picked up another piece of decoration off the dresser and threw it as well.

"She had no right!" he screamed.

Well, it took a little time
But I guess you finally learned
That promises get broken
And bridges do get burned

He was thankful no one was home to see him in such a tantrum. His father, more than likely, was out celebrating. He had dismissed the house's servants, knowing he would not need them and not wanting them to be in the way of his impending tirade. The house elves… well they were still there, but he never considered that a problem. They always kept their mouths shut, and if they didn't, they'd punish themselves for it. And his mother… he picked up the glass music box and shattered it on the floor in front of him.

You've been siftin' through the ashes
Just tryin' to find a flame
Holdin' on to nothin'
You're a victim of the game

"Damn her!" He tore a picture off the wall and looked at it, still seething. "Why did she have to leave?" Draco never would have acknowledged the tears that were running down his face, not if his life depended on it. He never would have admitted to this tantrum, even if it would save his immortal soul. He had no feelings, and if the world never found out different, his life would be peaceful.

His mother had been the only light in his entire miserable life. He had come own, soon after leaving Hogwarts for the last time, only to find that she was dead. He hadn't even been pulled from school to go to her funeral, and for weeks now the feelings that he had feeling had been culminating until last night. Last night came the realization that today would have been her birthday. The birthday that Lucius had never celebrated and the day that brought back so many memories. In their house, the only birthday that had meant anything was the day that Draco had turned eleven and left for Hogwarts. To Narcissa, however, birthdays were special, and twice a year, on her birthday and on Draco's, they would sit in this room, her beautiful dressing room, and celebrate the passing of another horrible year.

You were standin' way too close
To see it all fall apart
And there were things you couldn't hear
'Cause you were listenin' with your heart

Now Draco was celebrating the day in another way. The room that had provided the only peace in his life now stood in almost complete shambles. He had already torn down the dressing screen; it was the first target. The antique chair that had stood in the corner had been his second. She had sat there when they had exchanged stories, he about his troubles at Hogwarts and she about the humorous happenings around the house. Of course, they weren't really humorous to anyone but them, but after a while they had learned to laugh at the things that happened at this house. This was the only room where joy had ever been wrought, and now it was the place that held the most pain.

Draco started pulling drawers out of her antique dresser. Her under things flew first across the room, then blouses and skirts. She didn't have a pair of muggle clothes in here. She had once told Draco how interesting she found them, and if she could she'd wear them just once to see if they felt as comfortable as they looked. That, however, was out the question. Even admitting such a longing to Lucius would have been sadistic. She would be punished, not like he punished normal people, for that would have been too good for her. Draco went to the closet and started pulling her beautiful robes down from the hangers. He shredded the first half and then took out his wand and incinerated the rest. Up until now the physical acts had been more satisfying, but suddenly, wand in hand, he started destroying with a new, darker, glory.

But you can't say I didn't warn you
Now there's no one else to blame
There's no one quite as blind
As a victim of the game

She loved too much, that was apparent. Through all the years of endless torment and tears, the deaths the victories and the all too nostalgic defeat of Thomas Riddle, she had still loved Lucius. Her love for him was dark, however. It was the kind of love wrought from pain, gestated through jealousy and consummated by a hatred that would never make sense. It was the exact type of hatred that Draco felt now.

He was haunted, that was true. There was no other word for it. The dark circles under his eyes said it all. The reverse spells that had been put on his wand to show the spells he had cast on others had scared the courts. They were not unforgivable or illegal curses, but they were in fact horrid. Spells to overcome feelings, spells to forget other people. He could not count, not even he had tried, the number of times he had cast the obliviate charm on himself to make him forget the things he had felt or done for others.

Draco turned his wand towards the wallpaper that sung of bright colors and happiness and began shredding it. He hated himself, he hated everyone.

And it don't matter who you are
It treats everyone the same
All you need's a heart
To be a victim of the game

He still couldn't figure out why he didn't turn the wand on himself, make him forget Narcissa, make him forget he loved her, make him forget that she had ever existed as anything more than a mother in his life. He wanted to be in pain right now. Slow and grating pain. He didn't want to feel love, didn't want to feel vengeance, jealousy, defeat, hatred… but mostly love. All he wanted to feel was pain.

You know it's really gettin' to you
When you take to tellin' lies
And you can try to fool your friends
But you can't look 'em in the eye

Draco turned his wand up to the lantern that brought light to the entire room and destroyed that as well. He then went to the loose board beside the vanity table and pulled it up. He started jerking out all her books, all her notes, and all her correspondence that she had shared with him so many years ago. She had written him at school. His father had never though it would be necessary. He figured that Draco would do all right on his own, but it was his mother's undying correspondences and letter, notes of encouragement that had really pulled Draco through. She knew everything about him, start to finish, good and bad, from the time he had first shown signs of being a true wizard to the few weeks before his graduation when she had sent him a sad letter telling him of the things that were going on… she knew everything about him, and loved him anyways. It wasn't something Draco could say about anyone else in the world. Even his owl avoided him. No one would ever realize that he had loved anyone, and they all would spend their entire lives hating him.

There ain't no standin' tall
In the shadow of the shame
When everybody knows
That you're a victim of the game

Draco started to incinerate the letters and journals, but something stopped him. Beneath everything, on the bottom of the stack that had been thrown into the floor haphazardly, Draco saw a picture. It was small and very old, it actually looked very muggle in nature for there was hardly any movement at all. Then he did see the singular movement. It was a wedding picture. Lucius stood beside Narcissa, his grasp around her waist all too tight as if he was holding her back from running away, and a single tear trickled repeatedly down his mother's cheek. She had one hand over her stomach the other dropped deadly to her side. The last thing she looked was happy. The next picture he pulled out was of him and his mother standing together. This one was more recent. It had been taken over Christmas by one of the house elves. They had met here, in this room; to exchange Christmas presents away from Lucius. Christmas was another thing his father didn't understand, but that was no surprise. Draco sat on the floor, his hand laid protectively against his mothers knee, her hand was draped across his shoulders, her hand grasping the strong bone that was concealed beneath the flesh. She had been as afraid then as she had always been, and yet she found the happiness to smile, looking down to Draco every few seconds and realizing that if her life had been worth nothing, it was worth this one small boy, who love her.

Still kneeling beside the open floor, Draco fingered the edge of the picture lightly and finally began to cry more freely. He dropped down onto the cold floor and leaned against he wall with his knees pulled up against his chest. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he brought the picture closer to him.

And it don't matter who you are
It treats everyone the same
All you need's a heart
To be a victim of the game

"Mother," Draco murmured. "I'm sorry, I never told you. I loved you, even when I had no reason, even after my mind was poisoned against you, I loved you." Draco looked up towards the ceiling, hoping that maybe she heard him from wherever she was. His eyes began to level out until he saw the one thing in the room that was still standing. It was the full-length mirror on the back of the entry door. He stood and walked towards it, viewing himself in the mirror. His face was wet; his clothes in shambles, his robe cast on the floor in front of him. He was different. The face that had been untouched by feelings, was now flooded with them.

"I spent my entire life," he sobbed, "trying to avoid feeling like this, and yet you broke through anyways. How could you? How could you leave me, like this? Knowing it would change me forever, that I would never, again in my life, be able to look in the mirror and understand anything that mattered." Draco wiped his face, only managing to make it filthy from the dirt and wreckage on his hands. "You said it once. I saw it in you, and now I see it in me. That blind hate of our own humanity is what we mean when we use the word haunted."

Oh, you know, when I look into your eyes
I can really feel the pain
Starin' in the mirror
At a victim of the game

Draco walked slowly towards the door. He had meant to destroy the mirror, but he couldn't, just as he couldn't destroy the letters and books that now lay scattered. He exited slowly, fixing his clothes with his wand. He closed the door behind him and cast a locking charm so complex, that only he would ever be able to enter.

A house elf scurried past him, stopping when it saw the state that his master was in.

"Is you ok, young master?" the house elf asked anxiously.

Draco found himself forming a half smile before he could stop himself. "No," he replied. "I'm not okay." The house elf looked upset for a second. "Don't worry," Draco told him. "I'm not okay, but I will be. Excuse me, I need to say good-bye."

The house elf watched as the young master went down the steps and out the front door. He was terrified, he had never seen the young boy cry.