Exodus

Summary: Harry is a depressed orphan. Draco is an abused teen. Hermione feels all alone. Ron is the family celebrity. Ginny feels different and misunderstood. They're all human too...(Hints of spoilers from OoTP)

Disclaimer: HP is not mine, credit for HP goes to J.K.Rowling. 'Breaking The Habit' belongs to LINKIN PARK.

BREAKING THE HABIT

Memories consume, like opening the wound

I'm picking me apart again

You all assume I'm safer in my room

Unless I try to start again

I don't want to be the one

The battles always choose

Cuz inside I realize that I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for

Or why I have to scream

I don't know why I instigate

Or say what I don't mean

I don't know how I got this way

I'll never be alright

So I'm breaking the habit tonight

Cultured my cure, I tightly lock the door

I try to catch my breath again

I hurt much more than any time before

I have no options left again

I'll paint in on the walls

Cuz I'm the one that falls

I'll never fight again

And this is how it ends

I don't know what's worth fighting for

Or why I have to scream

But now I have some clarity

I'll show you what I mean

I don't know how I got this way

I know it's not alright

So I'm breaking the habit

Tonight

CHAPTER ONE

Breaking The Habit

Draco poured himself into bed. It was late; he'd stayed up to finish his homework. Quidditch was getting in the way, but he welcomed the exhaustion he received from both his homework and sport.

Even so, tonight he couldn't sleep. He swore silently. When he did get to sleep, it would be over for him.

As predicted, the nightmares came to visit that night. All the pain he had locked inside was slowly fighting its way out. Childhood fears had him cowering and shivering in fright.

He awoke, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. Thankfully, his curtains were closed. He made no move to wipe the tears away.

His eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust to the dimly moonlit room beyond the shut curtains. His dormitory companions slept soundly, unaware of his predicament; blissfully able to sleep without horrible fears and nightmares crossing their minds.

Draco became aware that he was sobbing, almost uncontrollably. Even as he weakly swiped at them and pressed a pillow into his face to muffle the sounds, he was not stopping. He felt vulnerable. It was a cold feeling.

He was envious of the others, who snored on. It was just another night for them. For him, it was more torment. He wished it would be over. It wasn't fair that he was the only one to go through it.

As easily as he'd felt envy, he felt guilt. He would never wish this pain on anyone else; not even Granger or Potter. This life of hell was too much for anyone. Secretly he prided himself on being strong enough to bear the pain. But sometimes it was too much.

And Harry Potter thought he had life hard. Draco wanted to smack Potter upside the head hard. Potter had the bloody nerve to say his life was messed up!

Since Draco had been a young boy, his parents had found him to be an easy cause for all argument.

"Your son broke the window!" "Your son hid my wand!" "Your son made me late for work!" "Why is he always MY son when he does something bad?!" "Your son is turning into you!"

Draco hated it. He knew they hated him too, and he tried his hardest to please them, but always to no avail. He was grateful when, finally, his father walked out on them. He was so happy he wasn't receiving beatings everyday. And so he grew up, for almost five years...

Until his father returned. Then it was back to the fights, the pain, what he hated so much. He would hide in his room, trying to ignore the screaming.

Then came the calm before the storm.

His father all of a sudden became nice to him. No, nice wasn't the word. Kind.

It began with a high degree of civility. Then gradually, past polite words and greetings to warm words of affection.

Draco didn't know why, and even though he enjoyed it, he was still suspicious.

"After all, why would he just start getting all nice on me?"

Then Draco got his first taste of hell.

It was when he was turning ten. His father's kindness had begun offering hugs, pats and ruffling of his hair. PHYSICAL CONTACT.

Draco turned in his bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. For the millionth time, he felt dirty. Not just externally, but on the inside. He felt tainted. Stained.

He didn't know how long he lay there, or why he couldn't sleep again...But he was still awake when dawn broke. He was up when his dormitory mates woke up.

He pulled on his clothes, still hidden by the curtains. His white collared shirt, black pants, standard black robes and green Prefect's badge. Over it all went a mask of stony indifference, a smirk of arrogance and false pride, and a gulp of harsh words to be bestowed upon his unfortunate enemies.

He was ready to face the world.

Crabbe and Goyle were waiting in the Common room for him. Without greeting them, he led them down to the Great hall. It didn't matter if he didn't converse with the two. Draco's father paid theirs to have them accompany him everywhere. They were dispensable.

Harry Potter was the ill-fated one to cross Draco's path.

Potter never got picked on. Except that one time in fourth when his name had been picked from the goblet. But even then, Potter had STILL won the whole bloody tournament!

Potter acted as though the scar on his head made him the most sad, depressed child. In truth, that scar was almost only just a birthmark. Harry couldn't remember the pain he'd received along with it. He never got nightmares about it. He didn't remember anything about it.

Draco considered Potter LUCKY that he didn't know his parents. But then, he thought bitterly, even if Potter had known his parents, they would have spoiled him to death.

And Potter was Dumbledore's favourite pet. That in itself wasn't fair. Headmasters weren't supposed to favour students.

Only because Potter had no parents! Ha! What a joke! He didn't need parents with all these people fawning all over him. But Draco wouldn't worship Potter like the others. Potter didn't deserve Draco's attention.

"Potter, what did I do wrong, that I have to see your hideous face so early in the morning?"

A bewildered look crossed Harry's face, but he had no time to even stick up for himself. The Muggle and the Weasel came rushing to his aid, swords drawn.

"Sod off Malfoy, before we hex you into a pile of ashes!" the red-head threatened. Draco almost laughed; the Weasley could barely even do a proper Lumos charm.

Before he knew it, Draco had let that thought out his mouth, and Ron had turned the colour of his hair.

Lucky for the six of them, Professor Sprout bustled by, telling them to put their wands away (Draco hadn't even realized he'd pulled his out). Crabbe and Goyle hadn't even pulled theirs out.

Throwing cold glares at Draco, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger turned and waltzed down the hallway, accompanying Harry Potter. Draco couldn't help but glare back.

In actuality, Draco was jealous of Harry's two friends.

Ron Weasley wasn't the only child. He had a bloody huge family. It bugged Draco that they would have the nerve to overpopulate and then flaunt the fact they were poor so that people would take pity.

But Ron had probably never taken a beating from his parents in all his life. Draco wished for a loving family such as the Weasley's; with older brothers to run to and a younger sister to protect, with parents who were always proud of you.

And then there was Hermione Granger. Perfect, intelligent Granger.

Draco didn't have anything against her. No, he respected her. He knew that if Ron couldn't hex him into ashes, SHE could and would do so without hesitation if Harry commanded. She could beat him senseless in a wizarding duel.

She was an only child as well, but it was obvious she had never had a beating before. She was always studying, Draco observed. Perhaps she was to busy studying to get a beating.

She was a good deal smarter than the two she hung out with, at any rate. She used that fact to deal out her orders. Maybe being an only child had spoiled her...

The day wore on, much like any other day. Draco kept to himself. He finished his homework during History, got Harry in trouble in Potions and tired himself out at yet another Quidditch practice.

He was just getting in the shower at one in the morning.

He dropped into the full prefect's tub. The bubbles closed in on him, but he liked it. The glow of one candle bathed him in enough warmth as he drowned in suds.

He slid under the water, soaking his hair in the soapy liquid. It felt and smelled good. He swam a couple of laps, each time coming up to breathe in a different scented soap.

That damn ghost girl was hanging around, and he found himself glaring at her more times than he really needed to. She finally gave a loud wail and threw herself into a tap, screaming that he was a demon.

After about an hour, he finally dragged himself out of the bath and dried himself off. He made faces at his prune-like fingers and amused himself thinking about how much lotion he'd need to use before they'd be back to normal.

After drying his hair and dressing himself, he made his way back to the Slytherin tower. With every dark corridor and window, he felt his insecurity growing. The dark ignited his fears.

It was odd, yes, that he had a fear of the dark. He was a Malfoy and would never show it, but the dark petrified him. Thoughts flooded his mind and his fears were being fed with every dark hallway he walked through.

He reached the Tower and sat in the common room, eyeing the fire. He contemplated reaching in and seeing what it would feel like. He wondered what it would be like if Potter fell in, how amusing it would be.

Sighing, Draco leaned back and let his gaze roam around the cold Common room. He caught sight of a calendar. November sixteenth. So close to December holidays...

He shuddered at the thought of having to return to his father's dirty clutches.

"A Deatheater?"

Draco had never thought of becoming a Deatheater. To him, they were all men of his father's age and status.

Lucius Malfoy's eyes glinted in the crackling firelight. The same colour as Draco's eyes. The same looks. The smirk he wore was Draco's smirk.

But Draco was different.

His eyes weren't evil. The smirk he had on wasn't because he was proud of being rich and powerful. He was proud that he was stronger than his father. He was proud because he refused to break no matter what his father did.

He hadn't accepted, hadn't even bother to answer. Lucius knew the answer though. It was in Draco's defiant look.

Of course, Draco had received his "right, proper punishment for his impudence," but day after day he refused. Day after day he endured beatings and threats. Day after day the defiant look grew.

At least now he was at school.

"Another month. Are you going home?" he asked himself.

The clock struck three.

::end chapter one::

::chapter two : poetic tragedy::

Harry Potter deals with depression like no other can...An argument with Luna proving healthy...and Draco..jealous?

Author's End notes:

OKAY! Sorry it took so long but I did have summer work and I wasn't able to update fast enough! PLEASE DO NOT KILL ME!!! I LOVE YOU ALL FOR REVIEWING, KEEP AT IT!!! MWAHZ!

-JaeJae-