If…
Summary: Draco-centric, a series of drabbles that go into a fic. Thoughts of what happens the summer after 6th year. Half-Blood Prince spoilers --;; sorry…
Disclaimer: I believe we have already established that NOTHING IS MINE! Breaks into helpless sobs now how will Draco and Harry ever get together?
Notes: yeah…so I recently read the 6th book…and it really depressed me. I have theories that Snape really isn't bad and just cares about Draco enough to kill Dumbledore to help him…but no one believes me because now everyone I know hates Snape and Draco, even though Draco was only doing it to save his family. I'm sure there are others out there who agree with me. DRACO AND SNAPE ARE GOOD. And Harry and Ginny do not belong together. Plus, in the book, it clearly said something roughly along the lines of, "Harry was developing an obsession with Draco Malfoy." Which sounds suspicious to me. Oh well. We can always hope…
Yeah, so this is just my outlook on what would happen to Draco over the summer, after his 'betrayal' of the Death Eaters. After all, he could kill Dumbledore. It'll probably go over Harry later, too.
If…
…
If he weren't such a coward, Dumbledore wouldn't be dead. He had never meant for anyone to get hurt. If it hadn't been for his family… Anyways, it didn't matter. Snape had sacrificed his good reputation for him, had killed Dumbledore, perhaps the only thing that was keeping Potter alive at Hogwarts, for him. For a worthless, ungrateful little…boy. Snape had bought him so much time, told him to run…but it didn't work. It didn't matter. They had caught him anyways. He was back 'home' and no one could help him now. Footsteps approached, and he recognized voices. Not good.
He curled up and resisted the urge to sob hopelessly. Malfoys didn't sob. Malfoys weren't helpless. Malfoys were always proud and strong, unafraid in the face of danger. The stones of the dungeon were cold and rough under his pale skin, but he couldn't feel anything. The blood was drying on his body. The chains they used to hold him in place dangled above him, taunting. There were no windows in the Malfoy dungeons. He hadn't screamed yet, hadn't given them any of the weakness they wanted. Malfoys didn't react. He closed his eyes and vowed. You won't break me.
The sound of approaching footsteps from beyond the metal bars barely registered in the tortured mind. Cold eyes looked down at the prone form lying on the rough floor stones. A familiar scene. He knew the boy was an excellent actor, perhaps better than he himself. The arched back and defeated pose covered an emotionless face and clear eyes. The pain was blocked away. Nevertheless, death was an everlasting threat. The hinges were silent. The potion worked instantly. Everything healed. Chapped lips formed three words. He gave a thin-lipped smile and his cloak swirled as he left. Thank you, Snape.
Maybe if he'd just tried to do things a bit differently things wouldn't have gone as wrong as they did. Maybe if he'd tried to do things the way they said not to, instead of listening, it wouldn't have been as bad. Maybe the old wizard he'd always looked up to would still be alive, maybe if…maybe…maybe everything that had happened was his fault. Maybe…maybe if he hadn't ever been part of anyone's life, if he had just insisted on going to Durmstrang, none of this would have happened. Draco sighed and pressed his forehead against the glass. I Repent.
He slammed his fist against the stonewall and instantly regretted it as a crunching sound and a wave of blinding pain brought him to his knees. He cradled the fist and examined it closely. The force had torn his knuckles apart. Blood joined the dried copper on the ground. His wrist and three fingers were broken. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he gathered the traces of inherited power and focused it carefully. Wandless magic was simple if you knew the mechanics. The bone cracked back into place and the skin mended, and Draco felt a sense of loss. NO CRYING.
Secrets were still held back, and they would never get them if he could help it. They had figured out that he was basically immune to the Cruciatus Curse now, so they had moved to more complex torturing spells and techniques. Still, the secrets remained just beyond the tip of his tongue, and they slid slowly back into his throat every day. They would never break him, he was immune to the Imperius Curse and if they killed him the secrets would be lost. He knew more than anyone knew. More than they thought he ever knew. Never worth it.
Prisoner in his own room. Black silk sheets on a bed made of darkest ebony wood, lush black carpeting and black walls edged with deep, blood red. Only two mirrors, one mounted on the dresser and one full-length leaning against a wall opposite. A walk in closet and a large bathroom. Luxury. This was his prison. His escape was now his prison. Never before had he hated his room so much. He was lucky. They had yet to find the secret room connected to this one, the one that held his art and his personality. You'll never find anything here.
Draco gasps for breath and listens to the steady sound of blood flowing. A rushing, dripping sort of sound. It's warm against his ruined midsection. Muggles may be geniuses, but some of their inventions just aren't safe. Like the acid that bit through his skin. They stopped it from reaching his organs and sprinkled salt over the wound. Salt burns. Like his eyes burn, salty. He closes them. No crying. The gaping wound streams blood, and Draco fears he will die. Concentrate, he tells himself, and it heals a little. He can see his stomach, liver and intestines. It hurts…
Wounds have faded into scars, but it still hurts. His perfect skin was marred by vicious scars. Before now, all wounds were carefully healed, so as not to scar, because scars were imperfection, and imperfection was not tolerated. Malfoys were perfect. But now…now it was different. Draco sighed and thought, perfection never lasts for very long. Looking down at the remaining scabs, he remembered how this had happened. If he was really like the Draco Malfoy people at Hogwarts knew, he would blame Potter for this. But he wasn't, and he knew it was his fault. It shatters. Like glass.
The quill slipped and stabbed deeply into his palm. Blood splattered onto the parchment. Draco cursed and took out his wand, wanting to clean it up, then rethought. Maybe it would help. He dipped his quill into black ink and poised it over the page. One letter…one letter that could save him. He wrote four words, then flipped the page over and wrote seven sentences. He stroked his owl's head and gave her instructions. Take it to someone who can help. She gave him a sorrowful look and flew off into the night. Draco sat back. Everything will be okay.
…
So that's it…so far. The next will be either Harry's POV or mixed, like Harry and Draco and maybe someone else. If you didn't get the third paragraph on this page, Snape healed Draco (who was the form on the floor). Draco thinks everything that happened was his fault. Snape is being praised (evidently) while Draco is tortured, because Snape killed Dumbledore and Draco couldn't do it. He did what he had to but he couldn't do it. I need feedback on this one. Please humor me. This whole document is 1300 words. 100 here, 200 in the beginning.