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Disclaimer: The usual.

Chapter One

Draco Malfoy had never felt so numb in his entire life.

Emotions-he felt as if he didn't know what they were anymore. He felt empty as a shell, used and tossed away. His life was meaningless now, if he called what he was living a life. Heh. As if he even knew the meaning of life anymore. He didn't even feel human anymore.

He stumbled out of the train, his legs barely working. Fatigue coursed through his body, making him uncharacteristically clumsy. Sweat pasted his white blonde bangs into his eyes, which he swept away with his fingers absently. He had a brown rucksack slung over his left shoulder, and that was the only bag he'd taken when he'd left the manor.

He hadn't eaten for days on end, and the water he'd gulped down after leaving his home was through a charm cast by his wand. It hadn't been easy, leaving the Death Eaters' vile nest, but to his utter astonishment he'd done it. He'd been relieved-he'd never felt so relieved in his entire life before. When the days had started to roll by, with Death Eaters fresh on his tail, however, Draco's emotions began to burn out. For how long was he supposed to feel fear? What was fear, anyway? If it was the emotion that made his heart stop, his body sweat, his fingers tremble-that wasn't it. No. It had to be something more, because it was all he'd been feeling for so long.

Now he wasn't experiencing it anymore.

Draco shouldered his rucksack, and started to step away from the platform. The people passed by him, not even glancing back. If they did see him, all they saw was a seventeen year old boy with mussed blonde hair, aristocratic features and dowdy attire. He looked fidgety, focused, even frightened.

But what they didn't see was the almost invisible scars crisscrossing his arms, his neck. He'd been able to heal his wounds before he'd taken off from the mansion. They couldn't see his dark-tainted soul, the damaged parts spread before them like a ghastly painting. His will to survive was still weak. He didn't want to live; he was only acting upon his mother's last wishes.

His mother.

Oh, God.

It hurt so much…

The portrait's eyes were narrowed as it regarded Draco's back. He steadily ignored it as he scrubbed away at the splatters of blood that coated the wall paper like gory graffiti. It had dried about three days ago, the time when the Dark Lord had last punished one of his followers for disobeying him. Nobody had bothered to clean up the mess. Afraid that the Dark Lord might not like the disgusting stains all over the wall, Narcissa Malfoy had started to remove them. But Aunt Bella had objected and thrust the job to Draco.

'Now, now, Cissy,' the dark-haired woman had coaxed. 'You do know you don't have to do that. It wasn't your fault when Yaxley got punished. In fact, if my memory tells me correctly, it was your son's fault. Remember that the Dark Lord had summoned for the boy and Yaxley had only been out to fetch him. It is purely Draco's fault that he ignored the sacred master's call. Yaxley-though he is clumsy, did not account for your son's mistakes. Make him clean that up, will you, dear?'

Narcissa had only gulped and nodded. It was ironic how the two sisters, who'd been once so close, were now a million miles apart. Not physically, of course, but emotionally separated. The blonde feared the dark-haired witch, feared not for her life, but for her son's and her husbands. Not a day passed when she stopped thinking that her little family would get killed by the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. It was pitiful.

So Narcissa, in order to avoid trouble, had asked Draco to clean the walls. Bellatrix had wanted to make sure that Draco wiped the crusty blood off the pure walls like a muggle. So Draco had had no choice. It was what he was doing when the front door slammed open and silhouettes filled the door frame.

Draco paused, but did not dare take his eyes off from the brown speck he'd been rubbing for fifteen minutes now.

There was a rough slither, like someone being dragged inside the house and a thud that indicated the collision of a body with the wooden floor.

Great Merlin. Not another one.

Sobs filled the dingy hallway. Draco resumed his scrubbing. Footsteps resounded as the people littered inside the hallway of the Malfoy manor and a cacophony of voices intermingling with the steps, coloured the silent air. Draco sucked in a breath and hoped beyond hope that he would remain invisible tonight. He was still smarting from the bruises a Death Eater had given him by kicking him in the ribs last night.

His lip curled ruefully. He was a pureblood, a creature above all the other living creatures. His kind was to be treated with respect, not humility. And look at him. What he was now. Why had his parents painted and woven fairytale realities for him? Why? Why?

Behind him, the screams were amplified.

'Hey, Malfoy,' a Death Eater jeered. 'Want to have ago on this ditz here? We know you love left-overs.'

Chuckles filled the air, drowning the feeble moans of pain.

Draco shook his head, swallowing.

'Aw, c'mon, loverboy,' the Death Eater said. 'This one was helping a couple o' muggles ter escape. Besides, you were pretty comfy with her the last time we saw you with her.'

That stopped Draco's heart.

Slowly, he turned to face the victim.

A girl was kneeling on the floor. Her long, silky long blonde hair spilled to the floor, concealing her face and the long ethereal strands covering her shoulders. An afghan was draped over her narrow shoulders. Her arms that peeked out of the rich material were pale, bare.

'Bet she's ashamed of 'erself now, yeah? Wanna see her face? Crucio!'

The light of the Unforgivable curse enveloped her and she threw her head back, blood seeping from her wounds, her half-covered body withering in excruciating pain.

Her green eyes were more than afraid.

When the curse ended, and she went limp, gasping.

'Draco…,' she panted, her voice feeble. 'Please…they used me…my bo…'

He was staring at Astoria Greengrass's pinched face.

Draco stumbled. He was wearing what the muggles would call casual clothes, a white t-shirt and blue denim jeans, even if it was snowing so hard. Yet, he was feeling so hot and clammy like a thousand suns were exploding inside him.

They'd asked him to kill Astoria.

He hadn't been able to do it. His will had cracked into a million fragments.

They'd said that he would pay.

They'd been right.

He was paying for it-brutally.

Numb, Draco started to move again. He was walking alone now, instead of amidst the crowding throng of muggles. Trees filled his vision, looking skinny and bare. The expansion of forest was dark, the forest floor coated with white snow. He stumbled ahead, his boots sinking up to his ankles in the white mass. He was leaving a trail behind, so he swished his wand to make his foot steps disappear. He was going to kill himself tonight, and rest in this forest like an animal he'd become. Besides, who would miss him, anyway? His father was dead, his mother was dead, Astoria was dead. His most faithful friends-turned out to be traitors. They'd all be happily willing to raise their wands to kill him. He had no one left in this stinking world. No one.

This realization had no effect upon him because he wasn't surprised. He'd killed innocent people for the sake of his own safety. He'd treated human beings-his equal by their blood status. He'd broken families, tainted his soul with gory stains of blood. He shouldn't be allowed to live. He was a disgrace.

Dusk was falling rapidly now, the sun sinking in the blue horizon and the world settling into tranquillity. His legs buckled, and he fell face forward in the pristine white. Tears seeped from his eyes. His body curled into himself, and he cried.

He cried until he fell into black oblivion.

X-X-X-X-X-X

'What do you reckon? Is he dead?'

Voices graced his ear languidly.

'Nah. I can feel his pulse. What you think he was up to? Did You-Know-Who sent him here?'

'I'm not taking any chances. Maybe he followed us here. After what happened at Malfoys' Manor-'

'Look at him! He doesn't look like he's been imperised. Wonder what…'

One of the two voices belonged to a female. The other one was of a hushed boy's. Draco could hear them talking about him-it wasn't so hard to figure it out. But he couldn't move his body. Was he dead? Was that why he was feeling so cold? His skin felt iced.

'I don't know. Shall we leave him here?'

'Yep. He's a Death Eater. He's bloody Malfoy! How can you even suggest that?'

'Well, Harry, you were the one who wanted to check if he was alive, if my memory's still intact.'

The boy mumbled something incorrigible.

'Yes, you're right. So what do we do about him?'

'Keep him away from our area at all costs? I don't know, Hermione. We don't know what he's up-'

Draco's heart stuttered for a moment, then began to beat erratically again. Merlin. They were going to kill him. Who were they? Ugh.

'Harry, I think he's waking up.'

Draco was frantically trying to move his fingers. Why the hell did they feel so heavy? Ugh. He felt as if someone had smashed a bludger or two at his head. Why had someone stuffed his mouth with wads of cotton? His face felt stiff.

His eyes opened.

He was lying on his back in the snow, staring up at the skinny black branches of the trees that surrounded the area. The patch of sky visible was azure. If Draco wasn't so delusional, he'd be mermerized by the arctic beauty of the forest. But, he was clearly delusional, because he was staring up at the faces of-

'Blaaaaargh! Get away from me!'

The faces of Potty and the bushy-haired Mudblood were staring own at him, with equally appalled expressions.

Draco scrambled backwards, his arms sinking in the snow, until his back slammed into the trunk of a tree. His breathing hitched and his right hand fumbled for a thin stick in his belt loop.

'Looking for this?' Potter asked dryly. He held up a thin wand in his fingers, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

'Give it back, Potter,' Draco spat.

'I don't think so,' Potter twirled Draco's wand between his fingers lazily. 'Why're you here, Malfoy?'

'I should ask the same question,' Draco sneered. His fingers curled into fists. 'Why've you been gawking at me as if your life depended on it?'

'We were only-,' Mudblood began tentatively.

'Shut up! I wasn't talking to you, vermin,' cut in Draco, his lip curling in apparent disgust. 'Give me back my wand and just leave me here.'

'And how do we know that you won't sic your Master and daddy on us?'

'My father-'

'Ah, ah. You're daddy wouldn't be coming here to save you now. Start talking, Malfoy, or I'll kill you. What're you doing here?' Potter snarled, directing both his and Draco's wand at the blonde boy sprawled a few feet ahead of him.

'Harry-,' Granger began again.

'Take care of your own shit, Potter,' Malfoy snarled back.

'I wouldn't talk that way-,' Potter threatened but the bushy-haired creature shushed him with her hand. She bit her lip, looking at the two boys for a moment, then sighed.

'Give his wand back, Harry,' she said.

'WHAT? 'MIONE! ARE YOU NUTS?'

'Harry, trust me.'

Potter shook his head stubbornly. 'I value our lives and the fate of this world. I'm not risking them because of this. Never.'

'Bloody hell!' Draco's emotions turmoiled outwards. 'Fine! Be a senseless prat and a skimpy hero! Just-just go away!' His demeanour changed as quickly as weather. He folded his long legs closer to his chest and buried his face his hands. His world had been torn apart and all the runt thought about was his own petty life. Why couldn't Draco die already? He'd received his punishment for-existing in this world.

'Malfoy?'

He squeezed his eyes shut, the cold settling on his skin. He shivered.

His mother was dead. He could still hear her screams echoing in his mind like a continuous, horrible nightmare. Her screams pierced his heart again and again until it bled a river. The world was coloured with violent streaks of red and black clashing into meaningless shapes. Screams. Blood everywhere…

'Malfoy?' fingers touched his shoulder. Draco flinched away, his breathing hitching again.

'Let me die,' he moaned, drowning in the desperation and pain in his memories again. 'Please. I beg you.'

'Harry, he's bleeding.'

Was that new? Draco would always bleed.

'Hey, Malfoy…'

Voices were rapidly fading. The colours swirled into a maelstrom and he was sucked into it.

The last thing he saw was his mother's face, splattered with crimson blood.

Review and tell me how much you liked this one. This story will get to the climax soon-though I'm certain I'd make this Fic consist of about 30 chappies, at least. I just need lots and lots of feedback.:) Yes, I'm addicted to reviews.:)