Chapter Three

His Mind

Malfoy sighed. He played with her fingers for a moment more, and gently placed her hand on her stomach. That stupid, but cute hand of hers reminded him his inadequacy.

The creepy darkness of the hospital wing was getting to him. He really hated this place.

Malfoy attempted to tear himself away from these thoughts. Regrettably, there was nothing in the hospital wing to pique his interest and blessedly distract him. Only Hermione and Mr Jamison, neither of whom could take him away from the direction of his thoughts.

As much as he loved Hermione, she was so tied up in his past that she reminded him of things he wished to forget. Fully conscious, she could easily divert him when he got like this. She would tell him a horrible joke, mess up the punch line and they would laugh together. The conversation would take a turn for the silly and inane.

What did Professor Dumbledore's skivvies look like? Where in Merlin's name did Luna Lovegood get her fashion sense? Was Professor Snape good in bed? He did have that dark, brooding, thing about him. Did the proprietor's of the Hog's Head have difficulty with cleaning charms? Did Crookshanks ever look happy? Was he ever happy? Can cats experience happiness as we know it? Were we ever really that young and naïve?

These conversations often bordered on the ludicrous, but they meant the world to Malfoy. She was his first real friend, and he treasured her and everything about her – most especially her ability to make him feel human and maybe even a little loved.

But she was not here to soothe his anxieties. She was not here to forcefully tell him that the things he had seen and done were not his fault. He could almost hear her voice, "What do you think they would have done to you if you had tried to stop them Malfoy?" His mind scrambled to hold onto her logical and gentle reasoning. But it was not to be, he could not grasp it, so he was left to his own derisory devices.

He did not want to think of these things. Not now. If he was to be honest with himself, he would never wish to think on them. It would bring nothing but anguish and confusion.

Malfoy wondered if confusion was his new state of being. He was often confused.

How could one possibly make sense of the things he had seen? Gods, that had all happened years ago, and he was no closer to understanding anything. No, that was not true. He understood Hermione, and how much she meant to him. He could not have survived without her. His body could still be in tact and well, but his mind would be dust. She, however, did not need him. Her mind and body would be healthy and intact with or without him

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Directly after their sixth year, the world was black and white. People and ideas were easily categorized into two camps. Us and them. Purebloods and mudbloods/blood traitors. Rich and poor. The list went on and on, and Malfoy knew his place. He was comfortable in this place. He and his kind may have to do some rather horrible things to achieve their goals, but in this case the end did indeed justify the means. They were inherently different, and they had to be put in their place. The world was explainable and static.

The excitement he felt when his father invited him to partake in certain Dark traditions had almost overwhelmed him. Malfoy was infinitely pleased that his father thought him worthy to join in such festivities. Malfoy revered and his father, as much as a sixteen year old boy is able to. He had often emulated his father and he was finally being rewarded.

Malfoy's greed for power over another human being had thrilled him. The electric anticipation was something he had never before experienced. He had known that this was what his was born to do. Wizarding society bestowed upon him a certain place, or that is what he told himself, and he was more than eager to click into that venerated position.

But Malfoy had been completely unprepared for what lay ahead of him at these Dark gatherings. He simply could not have imagined the things Death Eaters did to people, the twisted and utterly tormented expressions these poor muggles wore, the blood and innards bursting out of wounds and the eventual madness and pleas for deaths. Malfoy had felt an overwhelming sense that some things were simply unacceptable. He wore his shock and disgust well, but throughout the summer, the images and sounds increasingly tormented him

By the end of the summer, the world was chaos, at least in Malfoy's mind. The air was toxic and the ground quicksand. Nothing made sense anymore and he retreated into his own mind.

At one point, he had stopped eating and sleeping and he actually thought that he was just a mind. The body, his very Malfoy body did not exist. Therefore, the things he had done, or rather the things he had failed to stop were not his fault. A mind could not physically pull one person off another. Then his mind would notify him that a person could use his mind to change another's, and he would once again collapse in a spiral of self-loathing and confusion.

But he could not let anyone know what was going through his mind. Death Eaters did not look kindly upon weakness in their allies. He quickly learned to school his face not to betray any emotion; his voice and expression hardened. Stoicism enveloped his outer being. He desperately tried to force the same thinking on his mind, and was successful to a degree. Unfortunately, he found he could not force himself to forget what he saw and heard. His mind got in the way.

Lucius Malfoy mistakenly took his son's apparent indifference to human suffering as a sign of strength. He took great delight in the fact that his son would stand on the sidelines detachedly watching dark revels. Blood and torture did not appear to bother the younger Malfoy. Lucius believed his son saw himself above such base pleasures, and would one day take his place in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

These dark happenings did in fact greatly disturb young Malfoy, but he convinced himself that they didn't. The Dark Lord saw these revels as means of distinguishing young prodigy, and he was most impressed with Malfoy. He fully expected to grace the young Malfoy with the Dark Mark once his school days were over. The megalomaniac was unable to penetrate the young man's mind through legilimency, and saw it as a sign of great power.

It was not so much a display of power as it was a means of self-preservation. Malfoy had to close his mind to keep the anguish from taking over and destroying him. His mind was a closely guarded fortress. He attempted to build himself a new reality – something had to make sense. The world and his being could not be as anarchic and nonsensical as it seemed. Success was limited. Memories seeped through his barricades on occasion. At the very least he wasn't landing himself in St Mungo's.

He couldn't wait until school started and he would be free of these horrible gatherings. His mind might even find some sacred rest.

Surprisingly, to him at least, an owl brought a letter congratulating Malfoy on making Head Boy. Lucius Malfoy did not seem so surprised by this information, but he was proud of his son nonetheless. After school started, Malfoy heard rumors that his father and his "friends" had threatened and blackmailed all eligible seventh year boys into declining the post of Head Boy. Potter and Weasley must not have been considered for Head Boy. Malfoy seriously doubted that they would bow to his father's pressure. It made sense when he thought about it – he was not the best student, he had been a barely adequate prefect and he was less than accepting of others.

Malfoy was sure his father had plans for him as Head Boy. Lucius was not one to disappoint. The commands and words circled in his head, but they never really landed.

"Dumbledore-"

"Earn his trust-"

"Granger, she will be Head Girl – get close to her and-"

"Potter-"

"Weasley-"

"There is some order-"

"Find out-"

"This Lupin, we think he-"

"Weakness – find a weakness."

Malfoy did not wish to hear of his father's plans, but made sure to appear captivated. He had enough trouble keeping his own self from disintegrating into oblivion that he simply could not allow his father's world to penetrate the one Malfoy made for himself. Weakness – he was weak; he would soon crack under his father's custody. He had taken his mind too far – he had blocked far too much out – most days, he couldn't even remember if he ate or not. This also pleased Lucius – under the Dark Lord's command, the boy could not even be diverted by such primal urges as food and sleep.

He needed to get away.

School. School will come soon. You can hide there. You'll have your own room. You can hide there. Clear your mind. School will come soon.

The train at Platform 9 ¾ was the most blessed thing Malfoy had ever seen. Lucius had gripped his arm and none too gently reminded him of duties.

Somehow, he found himself in the head dormitory the first night of school. He didn't even remember the welcoming feast. No matter. He was safe now.

"Listen Malfoy, if we have to work together all year, can we at least try to be civil to one another?" a girl asked prissily.

No response. He turned to face the voice. He could barely hear what she was saying. This girl did not factor into his new world. No one but Draco Malfoy factored into his new world. He vaguely remembered some girl talking to him and pulling at his trousers on the train, but he could not remember. He did not think it was this girl in front of him.

Anticipating the start of the school year, Malfoy could not get himself to calm down. The jumpiness invaded his mind and body and sleep had evaded him for some time. He had taken blocking out the world to an extreme. Part of him knew that complete and utter madness would shortly follow.

"Are you even listening to me you little-?" She stopped herself. Anger. She was angry. Yes, he could figure that out.

He grunted in response.

"Okay, so we won't call each other names, at least to each other's face," she added hastily, with a very skeptical look on her face as though she could think of no worse fate than being nice to Draco Malfoy. "And no hexing each other either. I'm sure we can figure out a way to carry out our duties with as little contact as possible."

Another grunt.

"Alright then," she said very business like. The girl took her bags and some angry animal in a carrying case up the stairs to her chambers.

Malfoy stood in the beautifully quiet and calm room for few languorous moments, and then bolted to his own room, stumbling like a drunkard on the way. He collapsed into his sprawling bed, wrapped the voluminous coverings around him and allowed his poor mind and body sacred sleep.

A squawking alarm clock went off the next morning. Malfoy thought this meant he was to get out of bed, but his mind and body had other ideas and he promptly went back to sleep.

Many hours later, Malfoy finally woke. In his heart of hearts, he had hoped he would never wake. That realization disturbed him. How did that thought break out of his mind? He had exerted such control, and it seemed that now he was free of Malfoy Manor and his father, his control was slowing crumbling. His head ached, and his body felt strange and weak. He couldn't remember exactly where he was. He got himself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs to the common room. The girl from last night was sitting at one of the large study tables going over some papers. She looked up, startled as Malfoy tripped over the last step and fell in a heap on the floor. He decided this was as comfortable place as any, and thought he might stay there awhile.

He heard tentative footsteps coming towards him. He turned his head and saw a shoe in front of him – a really ugly unfashionable brown shoe, and he reached out to touch it. His mind could handle a shoe. A hand gripped his shoulder. He winced from the contact and withdrew his hand.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" questioned the girl. He tried turning over to look up at her, but found himself too weak or too unwilling to do so, so she gently pushed him on his back.

"Merlin, you look like shite Malfoy." He cocked his head and regarded the form in front of him. She was not terribly pretty, but she had a sweet face. Lots of hair. It didn't really even look like hair – it seemed an aura that protected her head from the outside world.

"I like your hair," he croaked.

"I suppose that is a definite sign that you are not okay." She looked at him quizzically for a moment. "C'mon." She gripped his arms to help him up. Movement was painfully slow. His body hurt for some reason. "It's alright, c'mon now." Her voice was so soft and tender. He did not know what to make of it. Her hands guided him when he had difficulty.

Between both their efforts, he finally stood up. "Let's just go over to the sofa and sit down, okay. It's just a little way." His tall lanky frame slumped over a bit and he put his arm around her shoulder for support. Her arm struggled to keep hold of his waist. Through her awkward and jerky efforts, there were able to make their way to the sofa.

"Okay, now, you just sit down alright?" He slid from her and flopped down on the sofa. She gently pulled him into a sitting position. His head lolled around. He had lost control over his body. This little slip of a girl was quite literally pushing him around.

"Oh my god," she breathed, "what happened to you?" She reached out to touch a raw red scar on his chest. He could not exactly remember where he got that scar – something about becoming immune to pain. There had been some sort of test. Someone had cut him slowly and deliberately, and he was not to fight it. Control – he pulled away. She was getting far too close; he had to put an end to it. Even though her touch was warm and pleasant, he could not let her in.

The girl was not to be deterred. "What is going on here Malfoy? Is this some sort of sick joke? Look at me," she demanded, her voice quiet, but hard.

He lifted his head to look at her. No No No. He could not do this. How was he doing this? Her reluctant kindness disarmed him. His own mother had never been quite this gentle with him. Their eyes met, and whatever she saw there made her gasp and cover her mouth with her hand. Her widened eyes darted over his body and returned to his eyes.

"When did you eat last Malfoy?" her tone was far too caring. He forced his flopping head down and saw his ribs poking through his skin. He lifted a bony hand and ran his finger over them. Why were his ribs poking out?

He chocked back a sob. Oh no. No, he couldn't break. He had worked so hard. His mind was a fucking fortress. The Dark Lord couldn't penetrate his mind; surely he could withstand this little girl with the ugly shoes.

"I don't know," came a strained whisper. He started shivering, and to his own consternation, it wasn't just because he was half naked and cold. A blanket found its way around his shoulders, and a hand lightly caressed his back. Before he realized what he was doing, he buried his face in the girl's neck and wrapped his arms tightly around her. His mind broke loose, and he needed an anchor.

Her body immediately stiffened. After a bit of hesitation, her arms came around him, and she made some comforting noises.

"Oh God no, please, please, leave her be, she's just a child." Wretched screaming. A blood covered, half dead woman trying to protect her child. "No No, you'll not have her." Desperate and futile attempts to shield a little girl.

He felt something wet on his face.

Screaming. Screaming. There was always screaming. Cruel laughter and jeers.

He realized he was crying.

"Please, please, I'll do anything, just let her go."

"Anything – stupid woman, we can make you do anything we want." A fist to her face.

Labored breathing. Why was he having trouble breathing?

"Imperio!" A blood covered, half dead woman brutally strangles her own child. She wore the sweetest smile he had ever seen.

"Finite Incantatum." Heart-wrenching sobs. A thoroughly broken woman rocking her dead daughter, begging for death.

His throat constricted and his face burned with suppressed fury and anguish.

Laughter. Laughter. Why were they laughing? Must not show disgust, pity, fear.

"She was fun – took a bit to break that one." Laughter.

"Did you see her face when she realized what she did?" Cruel laughter.

His mind could hold it in no longer. The fortress burned. Sobs wracked his entire body. He could feel it in his toes. Every nerve in his body released his pain and anguish. He was on fire.

His hands gripped her with all the strength he possessed. The girl held him tightly and gently rocked him as helpless screams filled the common room.