Disclaimer: I don't own any characters herein.

Rating: PG-13

Chapter Four: Desuetude

It was dark. It was very dark. Draco couldn't see anything it was that dark. And it was cold, but it wasn't windy, it was just ice cold, it was so cold in fact that it hurt his skin to stand there in it. But there was nowhere for him to go to get out of the cold, there no shelter. It was all just darkness, just darkness and unscented air. He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to keep warm, but it didn't help, his skin was as cold as ice as well and it served only to make him colder.

He turned his head and looked around himself trying to see something, anything, in the dark. It scared him, he felt alone. Was this death? Was this the after life? Was this hell?

Terror gripped him like an old enemy. His breathing started coming faster, ripping out of his throat like icicles burning his tongue as it left his mouth, it hurt so much, he felt that he was being torn to pieces from the inside out. He let out a choked cry, and his voice sounded pained.

Draco lunged forwards and began running, he didn't know where he was running, or why he was running, he couldn't see where he was going, but he knew that he had to get away. Get away, get away, get away.

His head whipped from side to side as he forced his legs onwards, it felt as if heavy weights had been secured onto his ankles and his wrists and they were growing in size with each slow step that he took. His muscles ached in protest, but he couldn't stop, whatever was out there could get him if he was standing still.

The cold made his skin burn, but that didn't make sense, it was colder than ice, yet his body was on fire, he felt as if he was being consumed by some invisible flame. If he wasn't dead then surely this would kill him before he got very far. He had to slow down for a moment to cough, he raised his hands to him mouth and he coughed again.

There was something stuck in his throat.

Funny, it wasn't there before.

He coughed again in attempt to dislodge whatever it was that was stuck there; it was like a lump, a wet sticky lump. Panic rose him and he coughed more violently. His hands abandoned his mouth in favour of scratching at his throat as the lump grew bigger.

He couldn't breathe!

He could feel his fingernails taking chucks out of the skin in his neck, he felt the pain, and it was agony but he had to breathe again. Seconds flew by but he paid them no heed, he had to get this lump from inside him!

His chest heaved and he arched his neck forward as he coughed again, the lump moved, a searing almost blinding pain washed over him and then continued to do so in waved as this sticky substance ran over his tongue and out of his mouth, the semi-aqueous substance was acid hot against his dry skin, it was flowing down the wounds in his neck too, it was thicker than blood. He knew what blood felt like when it was on his skin. He still couldn't breathe.

Despair and desperation forced hot tears out from between his eyes and they trickled down his cheeks unseen and unheard. He tried to move again, to keep moving in an effort to save himself from what was out there. But he couldn't move, his legs were like concrete, solid and immobile.

He dropped to his knees and cried, his sobs were choked and the lack of oxygen made him dizzy. He could tell no difference in the darkness that he was already in and the darkness of his subconscious that raised up to over take him.

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

"What are you grinning at?" snapped Lucius as he towered over his quivering son.

Draco looked up into his dad's steely gaze. He looked down, his face devoid of emotion once more. He was only seven years old; he didn't know it was wrong to smile. "Nothing sir." He mumbled as he tried to prevent the quivers from running up and down his small wiry frame.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Draco looked up slowly and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. His dad was a formidable man. He knew that, the house elves were all terrified of him; even his mum didn't raise her voice to him. His dad was a man that needed to be obeyed. Draco knew why, those who didn't obey suffered pain and humiliation. "Yes sir." He muttered staring bravely up into the cold glare.

Draco didn't even have time to register shock when his dad's silver snake headed cane came swinging at his face. He forced himself to take the blow, it was always worse if he moved. The sharp metal teeth of the snake bit into his cheek and stung like nothing he had ever felt before. "Malfoys do not show emotion!" barked Lucius as he pulled the cane back and swung it again.

Draco bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he forced himself to stand there and take the blows that his own flesh and blood was raining down on him for doing something as trivial and meaningless as smiling. Perhaps if this was love, Draco was better off never being loved, it hurt too much.

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

Draco was stood watching his mother preen herself for an evening out with her friends, Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Goyle if he wasn't mistaken. He had taken of late to watching her every move and memorising her social calendar. She was beautiful there was no doubt about that. It was probably why Lucius married her, she was beautiful, powerful, or so he'd been told, and most importantly of all she was a pure blood.

He narrowed his eyes in distaste slightly as she brushed her long platinum over and over again with that damn unicorn hair brush and pearl comb. Three house elves were stood obediently by her side holding bottles of expensive perfume, silk scarves and tall white boots.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, one of the silky strands blew past the nearest elf's nose, the one holding the perfume and the elf sneezed and dropped the bottle. It smashed on the wooden floor and the purple liquid exploded and went everywhere soaking the scarves and the boots.

Narcissa practically howled in outrage, she withdrew her wand from her pocket and aimed it at the three house elves who were stumbling over themselves trying to clear up. Draco heard her shriek the word, 'Crucio'. The elves fell like plastic figurines and began convulsing on the floor. Narcissa looked up and seen him watching, "Spy on me will you boy?" she hissed before she trained her wand on him and muttered the same word again. Fire erupted inside his skin and he dropped to his knees in pain.

He didn't even realise he was screaming in agony until his father's staff knocked him backwards on the floor.

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

Draco came to slowly, he was still in the dark place, but something was different. He was…in something, it was wet. He tried to pull his arms out of it and to his horror found that they stuck fast, and he realised that he wasn't just lying in something, he was sinking in it. The level of the liquid whatever it was was rising quickly. It passed over his waist and moved up over his elbows.

It rose up his neck like water in a bath tub and stung the wounds that were there, it inched up over his chin, it pooled into his open mouth, it didn't taste of anything. It was tasteless. It slid into his ears and up his nose making him inhale to try and draw in oxygen, but the liquid rose faster.

It reached his eyes; he blinked a few times and then closed his eyes. But it seeped in through the gaps around his eyelashes and stained his eyesight red.

It burned.

It burned so much.

How he wished he was dead.

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

"You're such a pathetic child."

"Drop dead Malfoy."

"You're such a waste of space."

"Drop dead Malfoy."

"You call yourself a Malfoy? Malfoys are perfect, you're not even close."

"Drop dead Malfoy."

"You were a mistake, I never wanted a child."

"Drop dead Malfoy."

OooooOooooOooooOooooO

Drop dead, yeah, if only I hadn't failed. Like I always do…