Chapter Nine: Nothing but Pain

Bang bang bang went Draco's head against the cupboard. He was going crazy, and it had only been a day! He looked at the snow falling out on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He had always hated Christmas at home. In his fourth year he stayed at Hogwarts and he had loved it. More to the point however, his body was reacting badly to the distance between himself and Harry. Ever since he had set foot on the train he had felt heavy.

He had not seen his mother yet, but he had crossed his father, briefly. The latter had simply nodded at him and continued on his way. Draco ran up to his bedroom and he stayed there. Upon his arrival at the Manor, his stomach turned and he got sick. He felt extremely weak. He went to bed, considering himself safe from his father – though he cared very little, truth be told. One night, after chess, Harry left his scarf behind and Draco pretended he didn't know. He had brought the scarf with him; and he would thank everyone to not consider him as that love sick teen, it was simply the only thing that gave his stupid genes some comfort.

He was adjusting to being away; it was the first time since he found out about Harry, since the beginning of the year. He felt empty and alone, sad and angry, but mostly he felt bored. He realised that without Harry around, there seemed to be nothing important enough to occupy him. He sighed and banged his head again. The books were right, even if you don't want it, the bond thing worms its way into your life, digs deep graves and somehow it does become all that truly matters. Maybe you love the person or maybe you don't, but that person does become it.

He fell asleep on that thought, congratulating himself that he was smart enough to take a dreamless sleeping draught.

"Dragon, Dragon," a sweet voice called and Draco opened his eyes.

He hardly even felt bad for being disappointed. He sat upright, holding the Gryffindor coloured scarf against his chest, thanking his lucky stars that he did keep his glamour on. He smiled a little up to his mother and replied, "Hi Mum."

She smiled and refrained from hugging him; she probably knew all about the no touching a Veela rule. She sat next to him. "How are you coping? I wanted to talk to you but your father has been so agitated lately, I just didn't dare," she said.

Draco shook his head. "It is fine, I did not write for the same reasons," he replied "I did as well as can be expected, as you can see. My mate has been found and I am in the process of courting her, it is going well," he swiftly lied.

He didn't want to give her any compromising information that someone might want to steal from her. That and he didn't specifically want her to know; Harry was to be his guilty pleasure.

His mother seemed delighted and very nearly hugged him. "Draco that's wonderful! Who is it? Anyone we know?" she asked.

Draco frowned for a moment and showed her the scarf, keeping it in his grip.

She smiled. "How perfect," she said honestly. "I knew only a Gryffindor could be a match for you. I am really happy for you."

He got up and started sorting out his clothes. "It is better than expected." He realised with surprise that it actually was.

Draco didn't come down before dinner time, trying to avoid his father as long as he could. It was the moment he dreaded the most. He went downstairs and his father was there, standing next to the table in costume, his mother next to him wearing a blue dress. He nodded to his son and indicated for him to sit down. All three of them sat at different ends of the table as food was served by the house elves. They never spoke. Draco looked at the food and felt faint. His vision blurred for a moment but he stayed up. He took a bite, his stomach turned and yearned to be closer to Harry. He got up and ran to the nearest bathroom to puke. His mother was behind them.

He got up and said angrily, "Tell him I'm not finishing that dinner. Find a lie, anything. The sight of him makes me sick."

He started moving away when his mother called, "Do you want me to bring something to eat up to you?"

Draco shook his head and walked up. "Don't bother," he replied.

He went back to bed, didn't even bother to take his clothes off. He simply took the scarf and sank into his silk sheets. He forgot to take his potion but it would seem that so much of his energy went into not crying that his mind was too tired to come up with dreams.

Sometime in the night he heard a whisper of, "I love you, be careful tomorrow." But he paid no notice. The voice did not make him feel better; it only disappointed him that it wasn't the right one. He fell right back to sleep, clinging onto that bit of sanity.

That bit of sanity though, left him somewhere past 1am. He woke up in pain, twitching and groaning in bed. Out of the safety of privatised rooms he couldn't scream, so he bit the insides of his cheeks. He stumbled out of bed and went to the window on all fours. He opened it hoping the night breeze would sooth him. It didn't. He wanted the night to take him away. Then it would be over. Damn this Veela business. He hit his fist against the wall. He was done with this; done with crying over nothing, done with feelings, done with loving. He had never known those things and he didn't want to; but if there is something to be said for a Malfoy, is that he does look after himself, and damn it he wants to live, even if it is spending the rest of his life by Golden Git's side. He would be damned if he let himself go without even trying, he liked himself too much for that.

In a fit of whatever his genes had come up with this time, he grabbed a parchment and wrote:

Potter,

You are my mate.

Cordially,

Draco.

He ripped it up and burnt it immediately, starting over again:

Potter,

It is boring here. Do not get me wrong, Hogwarts is boring too, but at least there I get to be bored in a castle full of people – thought this was about you didn't you? The Manor is empty safe for Mother and Father. Needless to say they are not the best company in the world; so I thought, let's pester Potter, at least it is more interesting.

Are your friends still ignoring you? If yes, I did tell you to wash your hair.

Cordially,

Draco Abraxas Lucius Malfoy.

Ps: Horse to A3.

He nodded to himself and whistled to call Arturo, his owl. He could have used the family hawks but he wanted to stay as discreet as possible. He watched him leave with anticipation. He sighed. Why did no one warn him that he wouldn't be able to fight his biology? This had become a second nature and while he had always been pretty good at hiding his nature, he had never been any good at fighting it.

Part of his nature was also to be dead scared. He had always been a coward, he looked after number one at all cost; and looking after number one meant keeping his father and the Dark Lord on his side. He had succeeded quite well; up to meeting the Dark Lord himself. That Christmas, he did not expect, when he came down for breakfast, to find said Dark Lord in his living room accompanied by his followers. At least he supposed it was him. He wore a long black mantel, no hair and no nose. Draco felt chills going up his back at the sight of him.

It was even worse when it came close to him with a smile. "Ah Draco, finally we meet," he said and gave him a hug with one arm, his bony fingers sneaking around his shoulder.

Draco stiffened. He tried to put up a smile and replied, "I consider it an honour, my Lord."

He was disgusted with the man, if you could call it that. Part of him was proud to work with him, but the bigger side of him just did it because he felt this was the winning side. But then, after Harry, he supposed his mind was still here and his heart was moving over to the other side. How soppy.

Voldemort made a turn amongst his followers and announced proudly, "We are all here for you Draco." He moved in closer to him. "Lucius has told me about your year. Dropping your studies no?"

Draco kept his head high up as his father taught him. "It is a temporally condition, my Lord," he replied.

Voldemort appeared at his side and whispered – hissed – in his ear, "But it isn't, is it?"

Draco snapped his eyes towards him, his heart sinking in his chest. He kept his composure even though he was trembling deep inside.

Voldemort smiled and addressed his followers, "Yes, our own golden boy is not himself today." He flicked his wand slowly over the Slytherin's body.

A few gasp, a few laughs, were heard in the room; and Draco realised that his glamour had been removed. He wanted to stay proud but he found it was hard when the wrong people saw him that way. He kept his head up and his gaze down. The Dark Lord put his long cold finger and nail on Draco's temple and he closed his eyes in pain. He wanted to fight against it, but he knew he was too weak and cooperating would be the best for him in the long run. He felt his energy being drained from him as the memories from the last couple of months came back.

Voldemort let out a triumphant laugh. "Lucius, Lucius ~" he practically sang. "Your son is Harry Potter's soul mate."

Something collapsed deep within Draco as his father and Voldemort discussed his Veela condition. He zoned out. This was it; he was going to be killed there and then. The whole room started discussing, putting in suggestions. Draco listened and to his surprise, it would appear that no one wanted him dead. No, they wanted to use him to get to Harry.

He breathed in and replied loudly to all, "I will not do anything against him." He was panicking but he had to stand up for this. He was going to die anyway; people might as well tell Harry that it was for him.

Voldemort smiled and approached him closely. Draco's skin whimpered. Lucius was on his other side.

"You will do as you are told," his father ordered.

"Yes you will," the Dark Lord added as the crowd moved in on Draco. "We will make sure of that."

He didn't even hear the order but soon his entire body shook and he sank to his knees. White-hot knives pierced every inch of his skin, his head busted with pain. He screamed more loudly than he'd ever screamed in his life. He'd been threatened but he had never received it. Tears welled up in his eyes and he thought of Harry. Everything went black, flashes of colours snapping in front of him. All he wanted was for it to stop... to die.

When it finally stopped, he really did believe he was dead. He remained on the floor. Churning in his mind, the only word he could hear was stop, stop, stop. This pain was worse than anything he had ever felt; worse than leaving Harry, worse than his mark, worse than rejection. They left him there, stripped of his pride and everything he stood for.

He lifted teary eyes towards that thing and announced clearly, "I will not do anything against him."

He was no longer fighting for himself. He did not know that his genes were no longer interested in him, they were geared to something else. He was in such a bad state, that it hardly mattered, it would all be over. For some reason, his body had convinced his mind that he had to do this to become someone in Harry's eyes.

Voldemort just laughed at his efforts and pronounced his curse again, and again.

He was withering, little by little. The pain was making him go crazy and he wished so much to have his scarf in his arms. He could no longer get up, could no longer feel anything other than pain. He could hardly think of Harry, he could only see flashes before him. He was long gone. He could feel his mark growing on his skin, the carving almost a welcome reprieve.

He sobbed and finally shouted, "Okay, okay! I give in!"

Voldemort laughed and bent over him. He waved his wand at Draco and lifted him with magic, carrying him to the nearby chair as he collapsed into it. Draco looked at that half human half creature; how could he follow this? He understood and stood for the cause, but he could not help this person; but it didn't matter anymore. He had stopped dying, his mind was slowly returning to him; he just didn't have the energy for it. He just let it all happen. He was tied to the chair and his body shook too much to resist.

"It is time," the Dark Lord announced. "Lucius, I do expect that now you and your family will be up to standards."

Lucius practically crawled to him, proclaiming their faith and loyalty. He hit Draco across the cheek, shouting something that his son could not hear. Draco was long gone. When the Dark Lord came to brand him his, he hardly noticed. Even the carving of the mark went easily, like his body had become immune to this type of pain; but he knew that this was the easy part. The mark was physically there, it still had to be connected to Voldemort. He came to Draco and pointed his wand. He pronounced a curse Draco did not recognize and there it was.

The pain was worse. Blades pierced his body but he was pushing his flesh as a wall against them, making them enter deeper. He felt ripped open and apart. He dug his nails in the wood, throwing his head back in agony. His soul was gone but his body was fighting the connection, screaming: this is the wrong person! He cried and screamed, his breathing stopped for a while.

Everything stopped.

"Did I nightmare it?" he whispered with half lidded eyes the next morning. He felt nothing, only empty.

He heard a sweet reply from by his side, "you didn't." He turned his head and looked at his mother lying next to him. She had tears on her cheeks. "I am so sorry, Draco," she whispered. "This should not have happened."

Draco shook his head. "It's not your fault mum." He could not blame her. In fact he couldn't do anything. He turned his head and saw that horrible tattoo on his arm brandishing his perfect skin. He closed his eyes. Harry would never want him now, not that he did before but now his chances were gone.

His mother gave him a parchment. "This arrived for you," she said.

Draco took the letter and opened it, not caring that his mother could see.

Before he read it, she said, "I know it's him, and that's fine."

"Thanks, mum," he replied, but not caring all that much. He read.

Hi Draco,

It's boring here too. You should be grateful there is someone. I did wash my hair actually but Ron still won't talk to me. He's at the burrow anyway. Hermione's gone too. There's only Neville here, and he's not much good either.

Please do pester me, I love that. If you didn't catch that, it was sarcasm.

I'm glad you talked to me actually. Strange how we moved on huh?

I'm alone for Christmas; I almost wish you were here.

Almost.

Anyway take care,

Harry.

Ps: Pawn to E4.

Draco almost smiled. He rolled the parchment up and turned on his side. It was morning but he didn't care, he would sleep this all away.

He held the scarf as his mother whispered in his ear, "Tonight we leave."

*Edited