The blade shone, sparkled as it rotated, darling diamonds flashing before his eyes, silver, blinding. It tugged, in fact dug quite deeply into him. He furrowed it further into his flesh; he let out a small moan as the blood poured out of his arms, a warm fountain pouring down, sticky and the smell of copper. He felt his arms shake as the blood continued to pour, the pain made his eyes water it was excruciating, but in it he found relief and a form of….escape.

At least when he thought of the pain he didn't bother thinking about his father; he didn't think about that ridiculous little mudblood, or his destiny. His fate; what he was going to be soon when the Dark Lord gained full power. All he saw was hate, and hate was what led him to hurting himself, he would show them, he would show them all he wasn't weak.

He let out a gasp as the blade dug further, enough; it was enough to keep him going. He took his wand and hissed at the wound, it closed but left an ugly gash on his arm, along with many others, he looked at them. He felt stronger, he would show them….

"Merry Christmas Draco," smiled Lucius sinisterly as he handed him a small package. Draco opened it wondering what it could possibly be, he looked at the package disappointedly; he was very confident he was going to get a firebolt this year; he would not be beaten by Potter. He unwrapped the parcel and felt something prick his finger, how odd, he thought as the rest of the paper fell away… and then he understood as he saw a small dagger, its head a serpent, its emerald eyes staring at him unmercifully.

What sort of a Christmas present was this? What on earth would he do with a ruddy dagger do? He supposed he could use it as a weapon, but what could a dagger do that a wand couldn't?

He looked at his father who was looking down upon him, glaring. Draco held his breath, suddenly he felt rather frightened, "Thank you father," he said to Lucius's imposing dark figure.

"I trust you will find it useful,' he told his son.

Draco still didn't understand. 'How do I use it?' he asked, withering in his father's shadow.

Lucius smiled, took the dagger and stabbed it into his son's shoulder. Draco stared in shock, it was tearing at him, ripping through him, and his mouth went dry as he took deep shuddering breaths. He felt the blood begin to trickle, tickling him, he began to shake, his eyes watered, he could not stop himself, and slowly tears fell down his cheeks. He was crying. He was going to die, what had he done wrong? He jolted back and fell to the floor. Lucius stared at his son and suddenly looked angry.

"Are you crying?" he interrogated. "Get up!" he snarled and forced Draco up, the boy's eyes began to roll in his pretty face, the whole room was spinning. "Stand up like a man! How am I going to present you to the Dark Lord? I have a weakling for a son!" he growled with rage but soon sighed and waved his wand, Narcissa would throw a fit if she saw Draco like this.

Suddenly the stabbing left Draco but he was still dizzy and left bleeding on the ground. "I don't understand," he whimpered, the tears wouldn't stop flowing, he brushed them away, trying to make them disappear but they kept coming.

Lucius exhaled slowly and tried to maintain a steady tone although his teeth remained clenched, "Very well Draco, I shouldn't have expected any better after this first test, especially since your mother has always pampered you so. But now the Dark Lord is gaining power he does not want the weak to be among him, you have to stand up and be a man. Show me you're worthy of bearing the name of Malfoy."

Draco lifted himself up still shaking, he looked his father in the eye, he had to show this man he was his father's son, he would be a Malfoy….he was not weak. He would be sly, cunning, he would act like the old Draco at school amongst everyone he knew. But secretly he would be getting ready. He would never let anyone call him weak ever again.

Every night since that Christmas in fifth year he drove the dagger into himself, willing to be stronger so he could show his father what he was, who he was becoming, but then his father went away to Azkaban and joined the Dark Lord. What was he to do to that? He did not know, but as long as he had pain he could forget for a moment in time and strengthen himself for the next test, whenever that was, and that was all that mattered.

"Draco," murmured Hermione softly while they had made a start on their Veritaserum Assignment in potions, it had been a week since their last detention. "Draco, please," she repeated trying to get his eye contact, but he just stared at the ingredients ignoring her. "I'm sorry O.K?" she told him getting quite worked up over the whole matter, "I'm sorry I said that about your father, I felt terrible Draco."

Harry coughed from the other bench, Ron looked rather pained as Hermione spoke to Draco.

No reply.

You'll pay, he thought, one day I'll hurt you mudblood, it will be like you never wished you were born, his cheeks began to burn as he got angrier, he felt white hot rage boiling up in every inch of him. He bit the inside of his mouth and tasted his blood, warm copper moving around his mouth going down his throat, he breathed out slowly. He must be cunning, he must be deceitful.

He turned to her and smiled his beautiful smile, "It's O.K. Hermione," he told her, although Hermione noticed there was something peculiar moving in those turbulent grey eyes. She ignored it, of course she was being ridiculous. Draco really wasn't as bad as she thought he was; maybe he had matured over the summer. This was definitely a different Draco….

I'll make you squirm mudblood, I'll make you squirm. Draco told her silently in his head, I'll make you squirm like a worm in mud right in front of me.