Disclaimer: I own nothing, just the plot.

Chapter One

The motion of the train soothed him. In all his life, the only thing Draco could rely on were the soft bumps and rumbles made by this large machine. As he stood in front of the mirror he sighed. The large bruise on his right cheekbone could barely be noticed. His muscles still stung from the last Crucio Curse thrown at him by his own father.

Father.

That was an understatement. Lucius was many things. Vicious, vile, corrupted, sleazy, and morbid, but never a father. Since the day of his birth, Draco was nothing more than a pet he used to his advantage. Yes, a pet. He was well bred, trained, and had the occasional rolled up newspaper treatment. That is, ifone could compare a newspaper to the darkest curses of all wizarding time.

Draco had long ago become accustomed to Lucius' beatings. His body grew used to the curses he received. He had been the test subject for many of Lucius' newly invented hexes and curses. Draco snorted.

A dog and a guinea pig. How fortunate.

For some reason this summer had been more unbearable than any other summer Draco had spent at the Manor. The number of punishments had sky rocketed to numbers he never would have thought of. Each day turned out to be more unpredictable than the last. More Death Eater meetings were called than normal. It would have struck Draco odd if he didn't know the man so well.

By the end of the summer it would be Draco's seventeenth birthday. This day symbolized more than he would have liked. For one he would be a man. He would be his own person. Draco was amused by this. His own person. He would never be his own person. He would always belong to Lucius, whether he liked it or not. The thought sickened him.

What sickened him more was the thought that his seventeenth birthday would also be the day he would be recruited for Lord Voldemort's army of Death Eaters. Sucking up to some lunatic mad murderer was the last thing on Draco's to do list. He shuddered to think of the day that he would do any service for that creature. But it was final. His only way out was death, literally. If he stood up to Lucius himself the man would kill him after weeks of the worst torture possible. If he chose to run, he would be tracked down and killed on the spot. Draco had thought over his options multitudes of times. He had gone over each scenario carefully and precisely. Nothing seemed worth trying.

However, the thought of death did seem appetizing. In fact he had tried it, plenty of times. Poison, asphyxiation, knives, drugs… the possibilities were endless. He had tried them all, but always managed not to die. Why? There was nothing left for him on this earth. Why couldn't he just die? Why was fate such a bitch?

Why? Why? Why?

Too many questions and no answers. The last time Draco had tried suicide almost worked. He was so close, so incredibly close. He could almost taste the sweet freedom on his tongue. Then she had to walk in on him. Damn her. He felt almost as strongly for the bitch who called herself mother as he did for Lucius. Though she never laid a hand on him, she had stood back and watched everything. It was repulsive how weak she was. She could never stand up to Lucius. She allowed him to rip at her mind, body, and soul since the day they met. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into when he had proposed to her. But all she saw was the money and the power. Never mind the fact that she would be his slave till she died. It was the power and the riches that called to her. She had just as much of a soul as he did.

After finding Draco half-dead, she revived him. He was sent to St. Mungo's for the rest of the summer. They did a plethora of tests on him. They saw the self-inflicted marks on his body. He was introduced from one shrink to another. Potion after potion was shoved down his throat, all of which tasted like shit. Day after day he went through the same routine, stripped of his wand, freedom, and dignity.

His whereabouts flew into the wizard community like a wildfire. Every pureblood family knew. He would return to school this year with no friends, just enemies. What he hated the most were the goody tooshoos that would pity him to death. Draco sneered. Many things annoyed him, but sympathy was the worst.

Fake. That is what all if was, fake. No one would understand. No one would care to understand. They would all stare from a distance as he passed them in the hallway. Whispers would break out like mad. The rumors would spread. The story itself would change to the most remarkable stories. It would become warped beyond distinction and cause the frenzy of pity to elevate to horrifying levels. But as always he would scare them off.

Or will I?

Would he still have the same affect on people that he always had? Would he still have the power? Would he still be the Slytherin Prince? Or will he have lost all of it? Either way Draco didn't give two squirts of piss. So what if he lost his influence and reign over the school? He'd rather live in the shadows. That was where he truly belonged. He didn't need anyone. He figured that out a long time ago.

Draco rubbed the temples of his head. The pounding headache resisted to cease. He welcomed the pain. He always had. His father had been most unpleased when Draco was sent to the hospital. His initiation to the Dark Armywas put on hold until further notice. They already had a nut of a leader, they didn't need anymore.

Concealing the bruise again, Draco left the bathroom in search for a compartment of his own. As he had suspected, none of the Slytherins talked to him. Crabbe and Goyle avoided him like a plague. Friends… Just decorations in one's worthless excuse of a life.

Strolling down the isle Draco came upon what he thought was an empty compartment. Low and behold a Hermione Granger half dazed and dripping with blood when he opened the door. The look on her face said so much when she looked up at him. Had his heart not been so frozen, he might have felt something for the situation. Instead, his expressionless face stayed just that way. He turned and left the room to a shocked and anxiety-ridden girl. If he had stayed just a second longer, he might have seen the single tear trickle down her face and the words "help me" written across her forehead.