Hey everyone! So did I get your attention? Here's the first chapter! I hope you all like it! =)

Disclaimer: Who doesn't wish they own Harry Potter? But sadly, only one person does, and that's J.K Rowling and, oh yeah, I'm not her. :(

"How could this happen to me/I've made my mistakes/Got nowhere to run/The night goes on/As I'm fading away/I'm sick of this life/I just want to scream/How could this happen to me?" Simple Plan, Untitled

Chapter 1

Addicted to Everything Except Sleeping Potion

"Filthy Malfoys, good-for-nothing bastards!" hissed the shopkeeper as none other than Draco Malfoy brought his purchases up to the counter to be ringed up.

"Thank you so much for your opinions," he replied dryly, pushing the dried chameleon skin and pickled toad legs towards the outspoken man. "I will be sure to alert the Daily Prophet, I'm sure they'll be interested to know that one more person thinks the Malfoys are 'good-for-nothing bastards'. What's your name, I want to be able to quote you when I get my interview with one of the Daily Prophet reporters."

The shopkeeper scowled at him, his leathery face winkling all the more, his eyes setting even deeper into his face. "Smart aleck," he hissed. "Worse than your father, and where is he? In Azkaban! You and your mother should have been arrested as well, left to rot in one of those stinking cells, with nothing but your horrible past deeds to haunt you. That's what you all deserve, mark my words, you all deserve to be miserable, as miserable as you and the rest of your lot made these other people, the muggle-borns and squibs and muggles and such."

"When I sit down for my imagined interview, I'll be sure to issue an apology to the entire world for not getting myself killed," Draco commented, his voice dark and humorless. This man was saying just what had been going through his head for the past three months, ever since Harry Potter finally killed Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard to walk the earth.

"You do that," snarled the shopkeeper. "But don't think for one moment that any of us will ever forgive you! I witnessed your father torturing a young muggle-born girl just outside my shop's doors. Her screams…How can you even live with yourself? How can you sleep at night?"

"Just fine," Draco retorted, now tapping his fingers on the counter. He figured it was better to lie and pretend that none of this was affecting him, rather than admit how his stomach was twisting, and how close to tears he was. "What's the price?"

"Eight sickles," was the reply, and Draco slapped them onto the counter, before grabbing the supplies, and getting the bloody hell out of there.

He crashed out of the door, and onto the cobblestone street, blinking in the bright sunlight. He was so blinded that he didn't see the girl in front of him, and crashed right into her.

"Ow – sorry – oh, it's you." His tone immediately darkened and his mood dropped even more when he saw who he had plowed into.

Hermione Granger glared at him. "Lovely to see you too, Malfoy."

"Wow – look who can come out into the sunlight after all!" came the annoyingly obnoxious voice of Granger's boyfriend, Ron Weasley. "So Malfoy, tell me – do you make a habit of running over girls, or is Hermione just special?"

"Ron, shut up," Granger hissed. "It was an accident, he couldn't see, and I wasn't looking where I was going, because I was talking to you."

Draco smirked. He was in the mood to piss off the Weasel, and honestly, the Weasel had set himself up for it in the first place. "As a matter of fact, Weasel, Granger is very special. I guess she hasn't told you, but I've been shagging her brains out since fifth year – or she's dreamed about it anyway."

"You fucking bastard," Weasley hissed, fists clenched, as if readying himself to punch Draco in the face.

"Yeah, that's me, the bastard, because goodness knows my parents weren't married when I was conceived – oh, no, wait, they were! For God sakes, at least use the term in the proper sense! Call me something else, but not an idiotic name that doesn't even apply to me."

Weasley glowered at him, breathing heavily. "Go fuck yourself, and leave my girlfriend alone. Come on Hermione."

Draco watched as Weasley took Granger's hand and led her away, through the throngs of people, towards an outdoor café with umbrellas hovering over small, round tables, and wickerwork chairs sat, cushioned with brightly colored pillows. He could see Harry Potter, and Potter's girlfriend and Weasley's younger sister, Ginny, already sitting there. No doubt they were out for an early dinner before continuing onto who-knows-what and who-really-gives-a-damn? He sure as hell didn't. He had never wanted to have anything to do with the Chosen One and his friends, although back in their first few years at Hogwarts, Potter had been known as The Boy Who Lived. Well, Draco had approached Potter with the notion of becoming friends – to use the term loosely – but Potter had turned him down and stuck with the Weasel. Oh, the tragedy of it all.

Thinking that they had the right idea, he wandered over to the café, and passed their table. Their food had just arrived, and Draco was nearly knocked over by the delicious smells of soup and lasagna and meatball sandwiches.

He headed inside the building, which was empty except for a few waiters and a couple of cashiers, who were there solely for those who wanted takeout.

The cashier looked up at Draco expectantly, and his nose winkled once he realized just who the tall, thin, pale boy standing before him.

Stepping back into his I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-what-everyone-else-thinks-about-me persona, he fixed the cashier with a steel gaze and said, "I'll have a bacon sandwich with melted cheese and a cup of split pea soup."

"What size do you want the cup of soup?" the cashier asked, cowering a bit, not quite able to look directly into Draco's face.

"Large," Draco replied coolly.

"Anything to drink with that?"

"No."

"All right then, that'll be seven sickles and one knut."

Draco handed over the money, and then stepped aside while the cooks in the back of the café fixed the food.

While he waited, he pondered what he had to go home to: A total mess.

Just like the apothecary keeper had said, his father had been arrested, but because Narcissa Malfoy had saved Potter's life, and Draco himself had switched sides – with several Order of the Phoenix members testifying to that – halfway through the Battle of Hogwarts, they were fined heavily, and were on parole, but were kept out of Azkaban.

His mother was now drinking his father's money away, and was seeing a joke of a therapist, who insisted on keeping her doped up on pills and potions that were dangerously addictive. Needless to say, she was out of it pretty much 24/7, and not a lot of company in the huge manor house with Draco affectionately thought if as his "own personal prison in hell".

Draco, having done a bit more damage than his mother had, hadn't walked away so lucky. Instead, he was given the choice – either complete community service at the Ministry of Magic for an entire year, or else attend Hogwarts for his final year of school. He suspected that Hogwarts had been thrown in as a choice so that he could be kept out of everyone else's way, and so that no one really had to worry about him. The new headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who had up until two months ago been the Transfiguration teacher and the head of Gryffindor House, was extremely strict, and very competent in all things that had to do with discipline. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would be able to keep him under control.

He had chosen Hogwarts, and within the week, he had received his annual letter reminding him to board the Hogwarts Express at eleven-o-clock on September first, along with the supply list which he would need for his classes. There had also been a pleasant surprise – he had been made head boy. It wasn't a big thing, and two years ago, he would have laughed his head off at the idea of being made a head boy when he had so many other more important things to do, but now he appreciated it. It gave him the sense, the feeling, that maybe someone out there didn't think he was a complete screw-up, that maybe someone didn't think he was a terrible person because of what his family had done, and what he been forced to do.

He had no idea who the head girl would be, just that he would be living in the same dorm – although with separate bedrooms – as her. Well, that could be pretty interesting…Although the girl would probably think he was a monster, just like everyone else. So on second thought…

The cashier yanked Draco out of his rather depressing thoughts: "Your order is up."

"Thanks," Draco muttered, now keeping his eyes on the counter as he took the paper bag from the cashier's hand.

He walked back out into the bright sunshine, feeling that the weather was lying about the world – in reality it was dark and gloomy and unfair, not bright and happy and cheery.

He passed once more by Potter, the Weasleys, and Granger. He wasn't going to look at them, he was very determined not to, but then he heard Weasel say, "Hermione, are you gonna finish that lasagna?"

Draco involuntarily turned his head to see Granger shaking her head and passing her half-eaten pasta to the Weasel. It was only then that he noticed just how thin she was. Her cheekbones seemed to stick out, her eyes appeared sunken, and her entire body just seemed tiny. Of course, none of them were looking their best, they had all lost a few pounds during and since the war, but the change in Granger was startling. He couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that she had eaten a full meal. No doubt Weasel was a good excuse, an easy wall to hide behind, because he was always eating and had no problem with chowing down on other people's food.

But didn't any of the idiots notice just how bad Granger looked? Why did he? And why did he care?

I don't, he told himself firmly. I don't give a damn about anyone or anything. I can't afford to.

That didn't explain why he paused and said to Weasel, "You know, maybe if you let your girlfriend finish her food once in a while, she wouldn't look as if she was half-starved."

Everyone at the table turned to stare at him, and then Granger snarled harshly, "Stay out of our business, Malfoy, we don't need a Ferret's input."

Well, he thought wryly, someone finally called me something other than 'bastard'. I'd say things are improving drastically.

He smiled humorlessly at her. "Sure Granger, just remember that when you're at St. Mungo's being force fed while under sedation. Have fun." And he stalked off, until he was in the street. He spun on the spot, and compressed his body into the suffocating darkness that was apparating, until he reached the gates of the infamous Malfoy Manor.

There were once peacocks strolling around the yard, but they at one point had been killed by Voldemort, probably just because they were bright and colorful and his favorite color was a very bloody red.

Now the grounds were brown and dismal, as the only people who lived in the house were him and his mother, neither of whom were inclined to do yard work at any point. After Dobby had been freed, they had managed to find another house elf, but the elf had abandoned them during the final battle to join the Hogwarts' elves' attack on the death eaters.

He walked up to the front door and let himself in. The interior of the house was just as sad and depressing as the grounds were. The crystal and glass and china were dusty, or else broken or cracked. The curtains were no longer drawn open, because the sunlight hurt Narcissa's eyes. Actually, any light hurt her eyes, so there were never any lights on in the manor, unless Draco happened to be in a room by himself.

Because the pills and potions kept Narcissa from having any appetite, she never ate, and therefore looked even worse than Granger had.

He walked quietly through the house, calling all the while, "Mother? I'm home!"

"I'm coming darling!" came his mother's voice, and a moment later she descended the staircase that led into the sitting room, dressed in a white lace gown with a square neck, her blond hair curled and put up in a bun. As lovely and beautiful as she looked, her eyes were unfocused, and she stumbled on the last step. Draco caught her, and she patted his cheek.

"Thank you dear."

"Mother – how many of those pills and potions have you taken?"

"Well, you see dear, I went to visit my therapist today – such a lovely man really, don't you agree?"

"Oh…yes, of course…Anyway, you went to visit your therapist…er…what happened?"

"Oh, well, I told him that I had been getting these headaches – you know about my headaches of course, I believe I mentioned them to you yesterday – "

"Yes, now what happened?"

"Well, he suggested he up my dose, he says it will help with the headaches."

"Did you also mention that you have no appetite?"

Narcissa laughed, a high-pitched sound that sent chills down Draco's spine. "Of course dear, but he says that will pass in time, eventually my appetite will return. Until then…"

"Until then, you'll starve," Draco stated angrily. "Mother, when was the last time you ate?"

"Ohhhh…This morning, I believe? Or was it yesterday? I don't know, I can't remember…"

"Why don't I make you something, if I had known you had stopped eating again, I would have picked something up for you."

"Oh, no darling, I'm fine! I'll eat later, but right now, I'm immersed in this wonderful book that my therapist recommended to me. It's about this woman whose husband has just committed a heinous crime and…"

Draco tuned her out as he walked away towards the kitchen. Once inside the room, he lit the chandelier and pulled out his food. He gobbled it down, and then turned his attention to the potion ingredients he had bought at the apothecary.

Contradictory to what he had told the shopkeeper, he was actually having quite a bit of trouble sleeping, and had resorted to taking a sleeping potion every night before he went to bed. He preferred to make it himself, rather than let some lunatic at the apothecary screw up and poison him. Thus the ingredients he had bought that day. He had been running low on the dried chameleon skin and pickled toad legs, which meant that he had had to brave the hoarded masses of the wizarding public. Not his idea of a fun time.

He mixed up the potion, let it stew for the correct amount of time – two hours – and then bottled it, bringing it up to his room. He didn't want his mother to get a hold of it, not when sleeping potion was the only thing she wasn't addicted to.

He plopped down on his bed, and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep and knowing that if he did without the potion, he would have nightmares of the worst kind – real memories. So with a sigh, he took a quick swallow of the potion, and soon fell asleep to dreams that he would not remember in the morning.

So what'd you guys think? Do you love it? Hate it? Like it okay? Let me know, because I would love to hear from you, and I would love to hear you opinions! I know this story probably doesn't seem too angsty yet, but I'm planning on putting more in, and I'd love to have encouragement, because it's not something I write very often *hopeful smile*.

;) moonlightbynight