Confection

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.

Author: Abyss

Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

Genre: Drama

Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU.

Author's notes: I just want to point out something before anyone reads any further… I need to mention to everyone that because of how I have characterized Draco, everyone else seems OC (mainly Harry) because everything is seen through Draco's eyes, and therefore everything he sees has his biased view. Draco does not see Harry all the time, therefore you don't know how he acts around others. Everything you read isn't exactly the truth; it is ALL based on Draco's thoughts and emotions… Just thought I'd throw that one out there. And… *Gives everyone who has reviewed a hug*.

This chapter is just one long journal entry from Draco.

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Chapter Five: Full of Empty

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November 15th.

Musings of the Mind…

As I sit here and sip from my small glass of water in my dark room, my only source of light is from the glowing flame of the candle lit on my desk that is emanating an eerie flickering golden light. The only sound coming from a small humming that is always present in the air with my contemplative face relaxing and scrunching back up every few minutes.

I have managed to realize a few things about myself that seemed almost invisible to me before. That invisible black-cloud that seems to permeate its way through every second of my existence, I have concluded, is self-contrived. I have noticed that in the past whenever I feel what I think is happiness, I quickly manage to do something that pushes me back into the grasp of which is my own misery. The determination of keeping myself within the confines of negativity must come from the sole factor of fear. Is it not truly fear that keeps a person from doing anything? Fear of change? Fear of loss? Fear of struggle? Perhaps I merely posses apprehensions of that change. I know what sadness feels like, and come to think of it, I am not quite sure if I could ever conceive a life without such a thing burdened upon me, yet... maybe... just maybe that is my major flaw.

I do not truly know or understand what happiness is, I cannot grasp the concept of being at peace with myself, and maybe... just maybe... that is why I remain the way I am. I am fearful of that change, or exploring that new boundary, because I found out who and what I am, and where I wanted to go in this misery, and maybe... if that fades... so will who I think I am, and who I think I am going to become. Could that change disassemble the being that I am? Maybe... but then again... who knows? But now that I have determined the cause of all of my self-loathing, what do I do? Do I try to remedy this fixation? Or do I leave it be? Will understanding the source help make plausible solutions? Or does it simple mean I am merely enlightened of who I am (or perhaps simply what I am not)? Am I bound to not understand the ideals of grasping what is known as happiness?

Can I fix myself?

Am I even broken?

It was not too long ago, when I discovered the sensation of self inflicted physical pain. It started with an accidental cut. I had sliced my finger open on a rigid edge of an old piece of parchment. It has happened many times before, and I am sure it will happen many more times in the future, but it was different on this occasion. My usual reaction would be to flinch at the uninvited pain, and then worry over whom else had touched that book and what might be floating around in my blood stream, while hastily casting a healing spell upon my wounded hand. None of that happened.

I stared at the small cut, that slowly started to fill with blood and I smiled. I smiled at the slight stinging sensation I felt around the afflicted area.

That is where it started.

Razors are more than easily accessible here than most would think what with potions and herbology; it is not questionable to have a few razors on hand. At the moment I could not really say what my plan had been when I had picked it up and fiddled with the small glinting object in my hand. I suppose I was just curious. Curious as to what a proper cut would feel like at the moment, or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to hurt myself. It would be uncharacteristic of me to say that I held in a lot of pain and torment, yet is it uncharacteristic of me to even be writing in this journal, so I give myself the right to say it within the confines of this worn leather.

Right now I wonder if it was just a way for me to get out what I was feeling on the inside, or if maybe I wanted to view pain.

When my father hit me, he never allowed any cuts or bruises to stay on my body; he always healed them, making sure every mark on my body had disappeared. I have always been denied that simple conclusion of being able to visualize the source of my pain. It might be a feeble justification, but I am not trying to justify my actions, I am merely trying to speculate.

It felt wonderful, as sick as it sounds. I like knowing I have control over something… Control over my own body and the pain it feels, it is magnificent. I have found that feeling of power I thought I had lost long ago, and I adore it.

I have that lost feeling of power again, and I adore it.

I can finally see what pain feels like and no one can take that away from me.

Not even my father.

Holiday break will prove to be interesting when father finds out what I have been doing. I am not naïve enough to think that he will not find out, he always does. When he does I am sure he will personally see to it that my scars as taken care of. Although I am quite sure that eventually even I would have gotten rid of the scars.

They might show something of internal pride for my eyes only; they are also ugly and I do not like the thought of having something ugly permanently attached to my body. I idly wonder how many other people are guilty of the same self-abusive acts. How many people keep secrets as deep as mine?

Perhaps people are not as secretive as they would like to think. Everyone has their give away; something to hint at what is going on inside their head.

I look back on the progression of this school year, and I wonder. I wonder about how much I have changed and how those around me have changed as well.

Despite the relationship I have with my father, he has always kept in contact with me. When I am away at school we can play 'Happy Family' quite well. Recently however, things have been quiet. It almost frightens me for his silence can only mean that something extremely important is happening at home.

Which only means trouble for me over break.

My birthday has just passed and if I know how my father's mind works, my parents have arranged for me to receive the Dark Mark. What a birthday gift that is.

"Happy birthday son, we are going to make you a slave."

Being a Malfoy means being born into privilege. I have more money set aside for me than I could ever possibly spend, people respect and answer to me simply because of my last name, and I have never had anything sort of the absolute best. But I cannot feel like I do not already have a damned future. All because of my last name.

Malfoy.

I used to adore my name. It used to mean so many things to me. It was one of those powerful names. The ones that demand respect and are saturated with aristocracy, the ones that have such a presence about them in conversation or on paper. I used to love the way my name sounded.

Draco Malfoy.

It had a sort of unique elegance to it. A name you knew people would remember. It created more self-pride than anything else could, but not anymore. All that has changed for me, the fraudulent air has cleared and left nothing but a bitter chill in my lungs.

I think I understand what Harry means now. Having a future so cut out for you that it is not even living anymore. Stupid bastards. Do they not realize what is inside of me? That I cannot bow down and be a puppet? Some how I will learn to cut these strings attached to my limbs. They need to see that they cannot attach a string to my mind.

That will never be theirs.

Perhaps that is the reason that Potter is the way he is. Perhaps he is trying to prove to everyone that he is not the Golden Boy they all think he is. Perhaps he is even trying to prove it to himself.

I honestly believe that he is not quite the Gryffindor everyone believes he is.

No, there is much more that lies behind his green eyes other than innocence and bravery. From what I have seen of him, he has experienced too much to keep all the demons at bay.

The black darkens that light, even if you do not want it to come.

There was a time… When I had been angry with Harry. Particularly about that one night… that one stupid meeting. The only thing that truly bothered me about that night had been one simple word he said to me.

My name….

It puzzles me. I do not understand why it truly vexes me so, nor do I understand why I constantly think about it. But I cannot help but feel that that had some unimaginable importance. Even now, I look back through my more recent entries and I reflect back on my thoughts, the more I realize that some invisible boundary has been broken. I see myself calling him "Harry" when I think of him, the name "Harry" comes to mind, not "that stupid Gryffindor" or "Potter". Just Harry.

It intrigues me merely because I do not know when this started to happen. Was this a gradual change? Had I occasionally called him Harry and it just started happening more frequent so only now I could notice its presence? Or had he become Harry that night. When I realized how largely I could impact his emotions.

When had he become a real person to me?

Will there ever be a time when I will call him Harry to his face? I wonder what would happen if I did. I still do not believe that he knows I heard him call me Draco. Perhaps even he did not realize it.

But I have. And it will not go away.

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Author's Notes: This came out much sooner than I had hoped, so hooray for all of you! I finally have my computer back so my updates (hopefully) should be more frequent. I dedicate this chapter to my new song I am recording! Yay!

I love all who review.