Draco woke up to a dark and very chilly room. The fire had died out, and he somehow knew that he was alone. He shifted around beneath the blanket, in which he didn't want to wonder about how it came to be there, and instantly felt a dull, throbbing pain both below and above him. He groaned, shutting his eyes quickly.
After a few more minutes of just lying there, he finally gathered up enough strength to push himself up. He sat on the floor, the blanket hanging loosely around him and in his lap. He bit his lip in order to keep back another low moan. He felt as if he were aching all over. The memory of what had just happened to him was flooding back into his mind, leaving him feeling sick again.
All of a sudden, he felt the urge to thrown up all of yesterday's meals. With a quick heave, he pushed himself up from the floor and took a moment to look around for the bathroom door. He ran over to it once it was spotted, went through so fast that the door banged against he opposite wall, and then lifted the toilet seat up before collapsing over it. He coughed up most of what was probably in his stomach; the fact that he had only eaten one spoonful of porridge this entire day didn't process well with him.
This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was telling himself that it hadn't. That this entire thing had only been a nightmare. Yet he couldn't find himself to believe that for very long. He felt disgusting and dirty, violated and betrayed. He didn't know what to think now; he didn't know what to do either. He didn't want to join the league of Death Eaters. He knew it'd only end up with them all dying at the hands of the good. He didn't want to get in the middle of it. But he didn't want his father hurting him again.
Grabbing a towel from a spot beside the sink, he used it to wipe the cold sweat from his face. Then he put the toilet seat back down, using it to rest his head on. His eyes closed as he sat there on his knees, not wanting to move but knowing he had to return home sometime. Not that anyone would be worrying about him at the moment.
Draco had managed to get back into the room to search out his clothes in the dark. He dressed very slowly and drew the hood of his cloak back over his head before leaving. The pub was nearly empty now, except for a few suspicious looking creatures sitting in the far corner. They paid him no notice, and as he left the Leaky Cauldron with his broom, he saw that it was even darker outside. It must have been about eleven o' clock.
Glancing about the street with narrowed eyes, he tried to make sure that no one was lurking around anywhere, or sneaking up on him. He felt more panicked and worried than ever before. He felt like his father could be anywhere waiting for him. He quickly wiped at his eyes and mounted his broom, which made him wince slightly. Not too soon after, he took off and sped over the city as fast as he could. He was no longer worried about using the charm.
As soon as he got home, he went up to his room and layed back on his bed for the following few hours. He couldn't get to sleep. He felt too tired to sleep, which really didn't make any sense at all. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes, more of the images would come flooding in.
After minutes more of this never-ending torture, he moved from his bed and into the bathroom to take a shower. He stripped himself of all of his clothes and stuffed them in the wastebasket, not necessarily caring that they had been expensive. He scrubbed himself down with hot water until it stung too much to do anything further. And even after doing so, he still didn't feel any better. He trudged back into his room, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and buried himself beneath his covers.
He cried himself to sleep.
The next few days he did nothing but stay in his room reading. The note to his mother was long forgotten of, and he could hear her passing his door occasionally through the night. He assumed that she had heard of Lucius escaping, but she had forgotten all about Draco to come and talk to him about it. She most likely didn't believe it herself; she'd been so depressed for all those months. He was reading more about the subjects in school. He was assigning himself even more things to do to pass the time. He no longer thought that eating was important. He skipped both breakfast and lunch, and only went down for a sandwich when it came time for dinner. Hunger didn't seem to be with him anymore, along with any sign of caring or happiness that he had felt before, when he first found out his father had escaped. He had also cried so much, that he thought it was all that was possible in his lifetime, and he punished himself for letting that situation turn into something so bad by forcing himself awake.
It was only the night before he would be leaving for Hogwarts that he went to sleep earlier than normal. He had packed his trunk with all of the same clothes and things from last year, since he had enough school ingredients, books, and supplies in the house to last him a lifetime.
Draco didn't feel any aching or soreness anymore. It had faded away a couple days ago, along with everything else. He supposed this was good. Walking around the school as if he were walking on hot coals would certainly not prove to be helpful. The best thing to do was to never let anyone know of anything that had gone on this summer, and to try and ignore as many people as possible. That way he could get through the year unscathed.
Which is what he believed he could do.