As Fallen From Grace

Prologue

Draco never imagined this would be his life in his sixteen years. Those mere 16 years that felt like the cold gaping abyss known as Eternity. He never imagined that all that has happened in his Eternity was real. It felt more like a recurring dream.

But it had happened, all of it. And thus, he has learned to be heartless. To protect one's self, emotions needed to be destroyed, and false masks needed to replace a true soul. For although flesh wounds will more than likely heal without giving any signification that a wound had once been there, emotional wounds take by far so much longer. Lifetimes even.

But the number one instinct, among all creatures, the most primitive above all is : survival.

And only a mere warning: Never go near an animal trying to fight for survival, unless you intend to kill it.

Chapter One - Last Train Home

It was the day before first term. It was the day the Hogwarts Express would drop Draco off at Hogwarts for his sixth year. It was probably going to be the final trip there; he was either going to become a deatheater, or death would blow him her final kiss. He hoped that it would be the latter.

In truth, he didn't desire for his fate to be a deatheater, he couldn't even stand the idea. But it wasn't because it would scar his "beautiful" flesh, or that he would forever have to hide his "beautiful" face. Draco knew he was beautiful. On the outside, perhaps; but his life, and everything that has happened in it, has twisted him, broken him, shredded his heart, and shattered his soul. Or maybe he was born that way.

No, those weren't the reasons. The reasons were simple in their own way. Delicate. Yes, if he were to become a deatheater, his broken insides would math his everything else. He also feared that once he got started, he would never be able to stop. For he was already on the brink o insanity. He would become something he had tried to claw his way away from. Something he knew as a child lurked in his closet. And he couldn't do that. But Death, oh how sweet it looked! To Draco, it wasn't scary, it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had seen in quite a long time.

"Watch it!" ahh, the cool mask of the-rich-and-superior-and-uncaring. This was the mask Draco often found himself wearing these days. It allowed him to slip through the cracks, not drawing much attention to himself most of the time. This mask of indifference caused others to stay out of his way. "S-sorry, M-m-malfoy," the second year stuttered, afraid to offend. Draco's reputation proceeded him. Draco blew past, leaving the kid to figure out what to do with himself.

Draco, consumed with thoughts of Death, went through the library doors. He wasn't looking for anything, particularly. The library was a sort of small, safe haven. No one in the other houses bothered him, Slytherins never went to the library, save him. And it was quiet, Draco loved the quiet.

He went towards the very back of the library, and found a niche were he could sit in that lovely peace and quiet. But low and behold, something had to interrupt.

"What are you doing back here?" Said Draco's nemesis.

"Well, Potter, I find myself asking you the same," he replied to Harry Potter's harsh-voiced question, which had held a curiosity. A look of surprise flitted across his face, for Draco had not spoken in his usual cold voice, but with an annoyed, slightly tired voice.

Harry looked him over. It disturbed Draco. Those eyes that looked at him in an odd way; they seemed as though they could look at him, and see all the dirty little secrets Draco's mind could not elude.

Finally Harry said something: " Sorry I bothered you." He gave Draco a one last odd look, and walked away. In truth, Draco did not hate Harry Potter with the fiery passion everyone was led to believe. No, he despised him. He despised him for the fact that he tried to save everyone and never himself. He could see it in his actions, Potter was wearing thin, and he still tried to save everyone. He despised Potter for his family. For although he knew, along with most at least half-way intelligent people, that his family ignored him mostly, and along with most conscious people that his parents were dead, it was a lot better than what Draco got.

Draco didn't pity himself, never has, and never will. He merely knew that if he didn't allow his pain to swallow him whole, then he would feel nothing at all. Besides, Eternity, also meant staying in the empty shell called "body", with no emotions, no contact with other people, and left alone, but that was nothing new; most of us are alone.

Now, he took out the other thing that was his therapy: his journal. He wrote everything but nothing in it. Whatever he thought, whatever he didn't feel. It was, in Draco's mind. His only companion, and it happened to be a book.

AN HOUR LATER

Draco was walking slowly down the corridor that would lead him from the library to the Great Hall. Upon entering, he came to find nearly everyone in the school was already eating their diner. Draco walked towards his table; he glanced at the Staff table, and made eye contact with Professor Severus Snape. He was Draco's favorite teacher, and his Godfather. Draco grew up in Malfoy Manor, and the Malfoys' favorite and closest family friend was Severus. But he was a deatheater, Draco knew, and therefore, couldn't ever confide in him. Only another factor to the truth that Draco was alone.

Upon his eye contact , he came to find that Severus had a concerned look in his eye. It troubled Draco. What is it with everyone giving me strange looks? What are they seeing that I'm not? He sat down. He knew Professor Snape was still looking at him; he could feel his eyes burning holes in his face. But Draco tried his hardest not to look his way. Blaise Zabini gave him his usual lust filled look, although he lusted after everyone, including himself.

And thus, dinner went. Cold, uncaring conversations Draco had with the other members of Slytherin. It was not that Slytherins were bad people. True, most cared mainly for themselves, and sometimes were lying sons- of - bitches. But then again, so is every person on the planet, whether they admit or not. But no, all were merely upset that they had lost yet another quidditch match to Gryffindork. Draco didn't care anymore, he had lost the sight of fun in everything.

It was only after dinner that Draco's night became extremely interesting. Because he was one of the last people in the Great Hall, he was also one of the last to leave. Draco was before the grand double doors, making his hoped escape, when he was cornered by Snape. Severus grabbed his shoulder and told him to go with him to his office. "We need to discuss something." Snape finished.

Draco wasn't shocked, only hoping that finally, he might piece together one of the puzzles of the day: Why Severus Kept Giving Him Odd Looks. Draco hoped, prayed (for one of the few times in his life) that it wasn't for the reasons Draco thought; that Snape had found out one of his most guarded secrets. Snape and Draco walked silently, side by side, down the stairs, to the dungeons, and into the Professor's office.

"Have a seat, Draco," Severus suggested, gesturing towards one of the chairs positioned in front of his desk. Snape perched his body on the front of the desk. Draco had been in the office many times before. It was always dimly lit, as though light hurt Severus's eyes. The room had three book cases lining the wall opposite the desk, all of them filled. A fireplace positioned on the left wall. A carpet and two comfortable chairs set before it, the fireplace was the source of the dim and only light. The desk upon which Snape was set upon, was a rather large, old oak wood, it was piled high with papers, books, jars, and other assortments. The walls had tapestries hanging, and a few paintings covered the walls. Paintings of various things, people, places, things. Draco knew a couple Severus did himself. All were exquisite pieces of art. And, of course, as all self-respecting, professional, potions masters, there were cabinets and shelves in empty spaces, lined with potions ingrediants, filled bottles and other items.

"Why have you asked me here?" Draco said to his Godfather, tone exhausted.

Severus looked at him carefully, using Slytherin's best qualities, hiding emotions and thoughts. Alas, after what seemed to be and extremely long moment of dead, pin-drop silence, Severus spoke: "Is everything alright Draco?"

It hit Draco, full force. That one, puny, four word question, opened doors, and crumbled a hero. Draco desperately wanted to tell him, everything. Desperately needed the gates to his heart to rust and crumble, to let him relieve his guilt-ridden mind. His tainted soul.

But he let that desire flicker away. For he knew, in no lifetime he would ever, or have ever experience, would he ever tell. He would never reveal. "No, Severus, what would I need to tell you?" and it was done, his last chance to be free, evaporated. He crawled back to darkness.

For Draco suspected, that if he told Severus, he would then tell Draco's father what Draco had done, and he wouldn't be half-way alive anymore. He would be fully, and completely dead, heart still beating, trapped in his body. Luscious Malfoy is a cruel man, and Draco knew this from first hand experience.

Severus gave him that look again, and this time, he knew what it meant: it was doubt. "Really now. I got the odd sensation that you were dying to tell me something. You really have nothing you would want, need, to get off you conscience?" 'Did he know? He couldn't have!" Draco filled with panic. And then he came to a conclusion. Snape didn't know. He isn't the type of person to avoid a subject. No, he was talking to him about this because he wanted to trick Draco into revealing all; and it very nearly worked. But Draco had learned that technique long ago, so long that he knew when it was being worked on him.

"I said I didn't , Severus. Why are you questioning me?" Draco snapped. He was exhausted. True, he wasn't meaning to sound rude, but he was in no fucking mood for games. He was about to hit rock bottom. His secrets have been haunting him, eating him inside, and kept going, for far too damn long. Snape looked him over once more, as though trying to see if he was indeed, telling the truth. Again, Severus gave him that look of doubt. "Alright, Draco. If you choose silence, then you may leave. But, I'm warning you: You could end up hitting bottom sooner than you think." Draco got up, the professor's final words echoing in Draco's dark mind. He nodded at Snape, and left the room, more drained and empty than when he had entered.

Severus gave a long, surrendering sigh. He couldn't say exactly what, but he suspected, and slightly feared, that something happened to Draco. He seemed empty. He seemed so broken now. 'what changed?'

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, sat deeply immersed in thought, sitting upon the windowsill. He was gazing out of the window. His eyes had rested upon something, but upon what, he was not seeing. His thoughts had travelled upon a person whom he never imagined he himself would put actual thought into.

Draco Malfoy seemed to consume him at the moment. Those brief moments in the library that took place only a few hours ago, confused him. What was with Draco? Why was he back there, alone, with no bodyguards, or troupe a la followers? And what he had seen in Draco's eyes was odd. He couldn't quite explain what he had seen, his eyes seemed desolate, and pleading. His speech was almost the same as his usual talk, but there was a slight, altered, indistinct change in his tone. He sounded exhausted. It was still only the first month of sixth year, things were slow, the workload not heavy yet. So Harry only found himself asking two questions: what is wrong?

'What changed?'