Author's Note: I wish to apologize deeply to the fans who I've left hanging for so long! I had a very hectic summer. This included a deep depression and loads of anxiety which made it very hard to write. I'm sorry for the delay, but I am hopefully back in action! Though updates will still be irregular due to the birth of my son, who now starts screaming every time I even think about touching my laptop. lol.

I also wish to inform you all of upcoming content of the story that may not be for the faint of heart. This story will contain a high amount of depression, anxiety, PTSD, and other mental conditions which could be associated with traumatic experiences. Reader discression is advised. I will be drawing from research along with personal experiences.

Characters may act "weaker" than their canon forms, but this is due to the traumas they have incurred. Please do not judge, but please let me know if you feel I do a character injustice. Please leave comments of both constructive criticism and love alike. Thank you. -ZutaraDramione97-

Chapter 6 Draco

I had been in my room since I'd returned home. I honestly had no idea how long it had been. A day or two? Maybe a week? I had no clue, and really didn't care. My mother made sure my meals were brought to me each day, but most of them sat relatively uneaten aside from a few bites here and there to keep me nourished. I'd lost weight, and my hair stayed disheveled on y head.

My mother knocked on my door for the millionth time, "Draco dear? Will you please come out? I haven't seen your face in ages." I stayed silent, nearly fearing how my voice would sound if I attempted to use it. I hadn't spoken to anyone since the last time I'd spoken to my mother shortly after arriving home. How long ago had that even been?

I could hear my mother sigh before my locks on my door began to unclick. She walked into the room and was taken aback.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! You look dreadful!" I knew she was right. But wasn't entirely sure how awful I looked until I looked in the mirror for the first time since being home. My eyes had dark bags and my cheeks were pale and sunken. I hadn't looked this bad since I was mending the vanishing cabinet in my sixth year.

I'd never thought I could be more mentally traumatized, more broken, more helpless than I had that year. But I'd been beyond wrong. I'd thought the arena had been even worse. But now, being in my home where screams seemed to echo around every corner, danger hiding in every shadow, that was worse. So, so much worse.

"Draco, you need to go shower. You've been in here for a week. You obviously haven't been eating. I can tell you haven't bathed. And your color is dreadful! You must get out of this room!"

I kept my head hung. I knew she was right. But, how? How was I supposed to do those things? My voice came out a rasp after being silent aside from my screams while sleeping, "But how?"

I saw tears spring to my mother's eyes, "Draco dear, you have to forgive yourself. You did what you had to do to survive! That's all! You had to do those things son. And everyone from that arena did terrible things to do the same thing- survive. And now, even after it all, you are all alive! You're all miraculously alive! Celebrate! Enjoy the second chances and live!"

She was right, she almost always was. "But how?" My mother looked at me slightly confused before I continued, "How does it go on? Life, I mean. How do we just…go back to normal? What is life after having to constantly look over your shoulder, fearing for your life? I can still feel my heart hammering, constantly afraid someone is going to jump from a tree and murder me. I can't even fathom sleep. Not only do I see the things I did, my worst nightmares repeating themselves, but I'm still afraid that if I close my eyes, I'm going to die. I'm going to let my guard down, and be killed for my stupidity."

My mother came to me and embraced me then. She held me tight as I contemplated everything I'd just said. I meant every word was what hurt most. I really didn't know how to live anymore.

I didn't want to d anything. I couldn't force myself to do anything. I didn't know what I even wanted anymore. All I wanted was to turn back time and make it so I never would have been in the Tournament of Magic.

She finally pulled away, "You take it one day, one step, one little thing at a time. And you pride yourself on that. Because, sometimes that's what you have to do to keep moving, and keep living. Take it one little step at a time, and be happy for that step. And the tiny step I suggest you start with my boy, is a shower. Your hair is a mess, and the only thing keeping you from smelling is magic." She gave me a small smile then. And I forced one back.

One small step. One small step at a time.