written

flashbacks

dreams

'thoughts'

Warnings for child abuse, language, rape, violence, self-harm, suicide, insanity, murder, character death and torture.

I tried to kill myself shortly before the chrstmas break. But you already know that. I couldn't face going back to the manor. I couldn't face shouted curses all day and soft touches in the night. So I went up to the top of the astronomy tower, I like it up there, and slit my wrists down to the bone. A couple of second year Huffelpuffs found me though, before I could bleed out. And Madam Pomphrey must have poured her entire stock of blood replenishing potion down my troath.

So I lived. And they sent me home early.

Dumbeldore insisted. I heard you arguing with him Sev, when you both thought I was asleep. Thanks for trying.

"A student under my care has attempted suicide," he said. "It is my duty as headmaster to inform his parents."

My father arrived to collect me the next day.

Lucius stood impatently in the entrance hall of the castle. After a moment his son appeared, escorted by his head of house. Thick bandages were still wrapped around the boys arms. His face seemed unnaturally pale.

"Don't hurt him," Severus warned, keeping his voice low so that no passing students would overhear.

The blond man replied in a menacing whisper. "Professor you know it's you I like to hurt. Feel free to visit, you do bruise so nicely." Then he grabbed his son's hand roughly and pulled him away.

Did you know what you were sending me back to Headmaster?

When we reached the manor he marched me straight down to the dungeons and whipped me till I passed out. When I woke up he beat me unconsciouss again. When I woke up for the second time I was in my bed.

"You are my son." Lucius towered like a giant at the foot of the bed. "I own your life. And you tried to take it. That makes you a thief. By rights I should cut off your hands." A pause. "But you've done a pretty good job of that for yourself. So I suppose I'll just settle for reminding you who you belong to." He lifted the metal rod he was holding. Set in steel at the end was the Malfoy crest. "Temero Increasa." The brand glowed red hot. Pulling back the covers and holding his son down with one hand, he shoved the burning metal into the soft flesh of his abdomen.

My father wanted to remind me of a few things. After he was done he raped me, cursed me till he was hoarse and beat me some more. I remember being so thankfull when my head finnally smashed against the wall and the world faded to nothing.

Draco sat in the corner of his room. He'd been crying but had forced himself to stop. It was forbidden.

A long time had passed. Unsteadily he got to his feet and limped to the bathroom to look for some potions that might help. As he passed the open door of one of the smaller sitting rooms he saw Narcissus staring into space. After a moments hesitation he entered and wincing sat down beside her.

"Hello mother."

She stared at him vacantly. "You're bleeding on the carpet." A pause. "Who are you?"

"I'm your son." There was something vaugly desperate in his voice.

A longer pause this time. "Did I have a son?"

I blacked out at his hands every day over the holidays. He was hitting me in his study when the firecall came.

"Lucius."

He turned sharply at the sound of his name being called, relaxed upon seeing another death-eater's face in the fire. He pushed his son roughly into the nearest chair and strode over to the marble fireplace.

"I'm sorry if I've disturbed you," Notts said, glancing across at the bruised teenager.

"It's fine. I wasn't doing anything that can't wait."

"I've called to give you wonderfull news. Our Lord has discovered that Harry Potter will be in Hogsmead tomorrow night, unaccompanied by any Order chaparone. He has given you the honour of capturing him."

It wasn't fair you know, the choice I had to make after hearing their plan. Harry was supposed to be my nemesis. He detested me. Sometimes I hated him too, especially when we were a few years younger. He is everything I could never be. He's the boy who lived. I was the son of a death-eater. He was right to hate me. The first time I tried to talk to him all I did was sprout death-eater propaganda.

And I could only imagine what my father would do if I betrayed his cause.

Draco sat by the window in a rarely entered drawing room. It was raining outside. He watched the heavy grey drops falling. The noise they made was vaugly comforting, almost like the beating of a giant heart.

He'd broken a glass earlier, held a large shard cupped in his hands. After a moment he pulled up his sleeves. They're soft velvet with little lace cuffs. There were bruises on his arms. Tea coloured smudges and purple welts covered the pale skin. Then there were the scars, hundreds of thin white lines. And the still weeping gashes at his wrists.

Not even feeling the pain, he draged the sharpest edge of the fragment along his skin. A line of crimson appeared, then another and another. After a moment they all started to blur together.

Harry was supposed to be the only one who can stop Voldermort. He didn't want Voldermort to win. But he was afraid.

Outside the room rain drops fell. Inside blood driped down.

The floorboards are stained a darker colour than before.

But sometimes I loved Harry Potter. For the same reasons that I hated him. He's everything I wasn't.

So I wrote a letter explaining what I'd heard, tied it to the leg of one of my family's owls and sent it to you Dumbeldore.

It wasn't fair. But I had to make a choice.