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The Violet Eyes of Malfoys

By Blasphemy Maker

Prelude

Pain, suffocation…

A small boy tossed in his sleep, crimson hair soaked with sweat, caked with soil, grime, and blood. He kicked at the door of his cupboard, involuntarily soaking his flimsy cot with urine.

His eyes were tightly closed, small fists kneading at his forehead, lost in the sickest of dreams.

Burning, heat, freezing, ice, suffocation, soul splitting pain…

A slightly larger boy, tangled in blankets, rolled off his bed, platinum blond hair also soaked in sweat, kicked at the floor as he hit the stone bottom. His eyes were forcefully closed, his slender fingers scratching at his abdomen, caught in a dream that did not belong to him at all.

Anguish, burning infection, blood, bones breaking, and blood filled the river he was being bathed in. Breeding disease in his skull and abdomen as torture. Hands ghosting over, invading all things personal. Being ripped from a slowly weakening heartbeat, the only one that had loved him. Pain, burning, freezing, cold, suffocation, drowning, shattering, damaged, broken…

The small boy removed his fists from his forehead, revealing, bleeding profusely, a lightning bolt scar received at the young age of one year. He clawed at his abdomen as if attempting to remove something growing on the inside. He drew blood as his broken fingernails tore through cloth and stark white skin. His lower body was now drenched in urine, like acid it burned welts on to his flesh

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. Rusted knifes slicing into the butter flesh of babes. Sickly attempts to cut out ones heart.

At the same exact moment, in two separate parts of the world, two different boys, with different back round's eyes shot open. One revealing stark violet with milky irises of red, the other violet with sharp irises of mercury blue.

One screamed, letting out a blood curdling sound. The other simply gasped, biting his tongue to refrain from screaming and waking his relatives. He drew blood as he bit down so hard, the urge to scream deafening.

The larger boy, screaming himself horse, was noticed immediately by his father, soon being cradled in his arms.

The smaller boy, tears slowly running down his face, noticed his newly formed welts, seeping blood, and urine, but he knew that nothing could be done. He felt a warm pressured heart beat at his side. He knew no one was there, just the after effect of his routine nightmares.


Harry Potter tied his long, cherry hair back, his violet eyes rimmed with red. He picked up a grey rag and sopped up the blood from his scar and abdomen, glancing at his other scars as he did so, then proceeded to realize that it was his last remaining remotely clean shirt in his cupboard. He shrugged, pulling it on, laced up his ancient frayed high tops, and exited his cupboard, intent to produce an all American breakfast for the Dursleys.

Crack the eggs, slice the ham, fry the bacon, stir the porridge, squeeze the orange juice, don't ask questions, don't back sass me!

Harry laughed out loud at that last part, remembering his aunt's lesson.

He placed down the three plates at the three places at the small round table… meant for three!

Harry cooks but doesn't get rations until his relatives are done ingesting his byproducts.

Harry's small frame, bathed in malnutrition, slid over a puddle of blood still seeping from his abdomen. He threw out his sharp, spindly limbs, his bones jutting out.

Mopping up the blood, he wiped dried blood off his scar, and stared as his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin trapezed into

the kitchen, their massive frames heavily weighing on the small wooden chairs.

Dudley loaded food onto his pristine white plate, coating it in oil.

Whilst stuffing his inhumanly large, pink face, Dudley made a satisfied noise, quickly covering it up with disdain.

"Dad, my bacon isn't crispy enough, make it make more!"

Harry's uncle Vernon reared his large, purpling head. Harry, who'd been soaping up the pan, froze slightly.

"You heard Dudley, Boy! Make him more bacon."

Harry nodded. Remaining silent usually pleased the Dursleys.

Whilst Harry's back was turned, he sucked in a strengthening breath.

"You know you have to let me go, right?" He said, slightly humored.


Draco Malfoy woke up hours later, lying soundlessly next to the pool that was his fathers long, platinum hair.

He smelled magical antiseptic coming from his lower half and wondered how much damage he had done during last night's nightmare. His throat was sore, from all the screaming obviously, he could taste the blood on his tongue from his throat.

Pulling himself apart from his father and off of his bed, he strode over to his lavatory and stared himself down in the mirror.

White-blond hair, similar but more ethereal than his father's, hung in slightly limp strands on his sharp shoulders.

He looked at his teeth, so sharp, so white, but appeared slightly dull from grounding them down throughout the night.

Draco Orion Malfoy. So lonely, so beautiful, so unnatural, so unflattering.

Draco sat in a low backed chair, pulling on silver socks under black boots. Examining his self-inflicted wounds from the night before, he saw that his father had already healed them. He pulled a black and silver robe on over his head and looked at his father sprawled out on his bed. He smiled slightly; he loved his father dearly, but knew he was with holding secrets from him. Now, that didn't make him love him any less, it simply made him paranoid.

His father stirred, then shot up as if he could feel Draco's eyes on him, scanning him like muggle technology.

"Hello father."

"Draco, are you alright?" Lucius asked, standing up, waving his wand at his hair, it immediately twisted itself into an elegant not at the base of his neck.

"Fine." He smiled broader. "Sev will be here in half an hour."

Lucius's pale lilac eyes twinkled somewhat. "I know, you're ready to go to Diagon Ally? You have your list?"

Draco nodded. His sharp eyebrow slanted upward as he eyed his father.

"Going to dress appropriately?"

Lucius frowned. "You are so petulant."

"You sound like Severus."

Lucius rolled his eyes.


Harry, red haired and unaccompanied, entered Diagon Alley at noon after being bodily thrown from the Dursley's SUV 10 minutes prior. He did figure that he would spend the last month before his escape to this so-called 'Hogwarts' school, so he did not fret when his uncle had yelled to not come back, and that his guts were hated, not that it mattered.

When the archway opened, Harry peered at the immense surroundings and blinked.

There were so many humans, countless beings ranging from stout little witches to Giant-type creatures.

Harry, in his slight agoraphobic fame, began to sweat, his bangs growing soppy in his eyes.

Reaching up and grasping the thin ruby circlet resting around his neck, he ventured on, purposely mumbling a song under his breath to keep himself focused.

"If you fool yourself, you will make him happy,"

Harry strode on, towards his destination that was the main Wizarding bank. Along the way he saw children with their parents, and others who looked vaguely familiar.

"And if you cut yourself, you will think you're happy, he'll put you in a jar and you'll think you're happy,"

Harry noticed that people were beginning to notice him in a negative light. He proceeded to walk faster and sing inside his head. Being slightly insane doesn't necessarily have to remain public, nor does being slightly unstable, or cross at times, or morbid. Keep it to your self.

And if you save yourself, you will think you're happy, he'll cover you with grass and you'll think you're happy,

Harry, who'd seen a small swarm of people, closed his eyes tightly. When he'd opened them again he was lying flat on his back on the dirt road. Right beside him was an apothecary, and a tall man, black hair long and shiny, black eyes like obsidian depths. He was dusting himself off and mumbling about what sounded like 'damn crowds'.

The man thin looked down.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, hunching over and extracting his hand for Harry to grasp.

Harry's hand shook slightly as he grasped the man's hand, using it as an anchor to pull himself up.

"F-fine. Thank you." Harry said, steadying himself and his courage.

The man eyed him, his blood-red hair, and his violet eyes.

"What is your name?" He asked, his voice like liquid silver.

Harry, whose vision had been directed at the floor and his shoes that were literally peeling apart, looked up quickly.

"Harry, sir. I'm sorry if I knocked you down."

"It was the crowd's fault, not yours."

Harry looked humored, his mood taking a one eighty.

"I am sure it was just my poor luck. Thank you for helping me stand up straight." The man looked mildly perplexed as Harry walked away, sickly smile painting his face.

No longer humming Nirvana songs, Harry looked straight ahead. Making sure his bangs were covering his slightly bleeding scar, Harry pushed open the pristine white doors of Gringotts wizard bank, and breathed out.


Draco stared at the grate as Severus flooed in through the emerald green flames.

"'Lo Sev." Draco said as his godfather dusted himself off.

"Hello Draco. Are you ready to head to Diagon Ally?"

Draco nodded. "Did you just come from there?" He asked, motioning towards the package grasped in his hand.

"Yes. Where is your father."

"Here." Lucius extracted the package from Severus's hands.

"Thank you." He said awkwardly. "Lets be off."

"Indeed."

Draco raised his eyebrows, and then lowered them, storing away all thoughts for later days.

Draco rubbed his abdomen whilst they trekked through The Leaky Cauldron.

He heard Severus converse about whether he'd had another nightmare with his father, but tuned it all out to listen to the music he could hear at the back of his mind.

I will never bother you, I will never promise to never speak a word again, I will crawl away for good, I will move away from here, you wont be afraid of fear, no thought was put into this, I always knew it would come to this, things have never been this swell, I have never felt this well, pain…

Then it cut off and all he heard was a hazy silence.

He looked up and noticed that his father had been trying to achieve his attention.

"Yes father."

"I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes. I want you to go and buy robes while Severus and I go pick some things up."
"Anywhere I want?" Draco asked, questioning about his future attire.

Lucius sucked in a trembling breathe.

"Yes." He said rigidly.

As Lucius and Severus retreated, he heard Severus ask his father if that was really that hard. His father mumbled that it was. Draco sniggered. His father was so particular with brand names as if they meant fine quality.


Harry ventured down the ally way. He had found his vault shallow but sufficient enough to get through his years. Possibly with the aid of Knut pinching and various summer jobs.

Harry passed by robe shops, carrying packages of second hand course books and a dirty, graying raven he'd named Shane. He skipped on stone steps, making Shane screech.

"I love it when you screech, Shane. Never stop." He said cynically as he stopped in front of a thrift store called 'X.U.S thrift'.

Harry paused, staring at a moving dummy wearing a frayed purple dress, and entered after spotting a sign on the grimy glass window that said 'Hogwarts robes sold here'.

He swirled as he picked up a burlap shopping bag, grabbing single Knut pins of eyes, muggle bands, and dragonflies.

He also placed inside his bag a pair of thickly framed, black, square glasses to replace his various times broken round glasses.

Black boots for his slender white feet, lace gloves for his ashen hands.

A teal shoulder bag for his books. An aged bronze, Victorian cage for his raven Shane.

He tread towards the area labeled with a sign that said 'Hogwarts robes'.

Standing in his emaciated stature, Harry found it hard to find anything in his size.

Eventually he found something remote, maybe three volumes to large, but he had worn larger, much larger.

He was about to heave the set of robes into his bag, until he heard a distorted voice mumble something about 'Robes three sizes to small'.


Draco Malfoy stood, as if liberated, in front of a thrift store, something, of which, his father would never have aloud nor agreed to.

He grinned crudely and ventured inward after noticing a sign stating that 'Hogwarts robes sold here'.

Whilst inside he carried black muggle jeans in his arms, and lace blouses around with him. He had glared at an older woman who had looked at his choice of tops in disdain.

"Reminds me of my aunt." A voice said close to his shoulder.

"Did you happen to mention something about robes three sizes to small?" Draco had turned slightly, searching for the small voice, finding a small mass to accompany it when he looked down slightly.

"Yes." Draco said, reaching up to wear he had hung the robes.

"I don't know what that woman's problem is. It is my choice in clothing, not her's."

Harry, whose voice was growing slightly stronger, smiled bitterly.

"My aunt called me a satanic homosexual for eight months when I forced my hair to grow long. I didn't know what I was doing at the time. I didn't know it was satanic."

"Muggle-born?" Draco asked, grinning, raging against his conformist father.

"Muggle-raised. They didn't tell me that my mother and father had been magically endowed." Harry proceeded to snort.

Draco lowered his eyebrows good-naturedly.

"Draco Malfoy." He said, extending his slender hand.

Harry grasped it with his, covered in a purple lace glove.

"Harry Potter."

Draco's face froze, but quickly swallowed his future reprimanding.

"I like your gloves."


Staring up at the plaster ceiling of his room at the leaky cauldron, Harry involuntarily picked at his scar, drawing blood that matched his hair to a t as he thought of Draco, Draco oppressing but compassionate father, stoctic and silent Severus Snape, and of himself in there presence.

Harry rolled over, glancing at the high mirror. He stared himself down, squinting his eyes, and then glaring.

"That is not very nice deary!" The mirror said to him indignantly.

"Sit on it!" He said bitterly, chucking his old high top at its dull, reflective surface, shattering his own reflection.

Harry smiled, and nodded off, awaiting the coming school year three weeks after his wake.


Sitting on his plush silver carpet, Draco listened to a slightly erratic heartbeat at the back of his mind as he thought of his day in past tense, Harry Potter, and how he had come across. His father hadn't been that haughty when it came to meeting Harry and him whilst he'd looked for books.

Severus had been cool, remaining silent, as he'd processed Harry with his mind. Draco knew that look.

Harry was… to put it bluntly; bitter for someone so young, bottling up a lot of emotion for one so literally tall.

Harry stood at five foot against Draco's slightly more built build of five foot five inches.

The one thing that had really gotten to him was that Harry Potter seemed to really loathe his scar. He had covered it up with his crimson hair throughout the whole day. Draco had noticed that it was slightly swollen and bloody when Harry had wiped his sweaty bangs whilst in a crowd of many in a popular bookstore.

Maybe Harry was agoraphobic, maybe Harry was abused, and maybe Harry was sick…

Draco fell asleep on his plush carpet; thinking of Harry and drinking in the erratic heartbeat at the back of his mind.


Author Note: I know that it is highly unorthodox, but it will get better, get more interesting, you know.

Please read and review.

The sixth book sucked, I'm already impaled…

Remember, flames burn.

Blasphemy Maker