Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the great reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed how I likened Snape's childhood to Harry's.

You make some great points about no one else at Hogwarts really acknowledging that Snape was treated badly during his school years. Only Snape really ever insults James Potter and the Marauders, and Harry doesn't overhear anything from any other adult concerning how badly they behaved. Considering what we saw in Snape's Worst Memory, that rather surprises me. It's obviously not really what the Harry Potter story is about, but it still would have been interesting to have other people mention it.

Anyway, a warning about this chapter - Draco truly reaches rock bottom. But you will find that no matter how bad things look once it's over, not all hope has been lost.

xxxxxxxxxx

Draco was sick of waking up in the morning feeling wretched. It had happened more times this year than in any year he'd lived before, and he wished it would stop. The sound of his alarm clock blaring in his ear practically drilled nails into his head these days.

He paid no attention to the conversations in the common room as Crabbe and Goyle followed him like faithful shadows, their gormless demeanors only adding to the pure exhaustion that filled every pore of his being. Maybe he was being paranoid, but every other word he heard seemed to be "Potter," even as he tried to tune all conversations out. All day yesterday, he'd tried to make himself as scarce as possible. Thankfully, Pansy hadn't clung to him, and Theodore Nott found him too boring to even make an irritating comment to. Draco didn't care.

But he still heard it, all day long. Potter. Potter. Potter. Potter. During Care of Magical Creatures, he'd seen Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom - obviously, they'd been forced to return to classes. Their faces were pale, the worry clear to see. If Draco hadn't been feeling so awful, he'd have laughed. The three of them were so transparent that anyone that even gave them a brief glance would know that something was wrong with Potter. Before this year, their complete lack of subtlety would be rather amusing and would have given Draco the perfect opportunity to let out some great taunts.

But he couldn't. He couldn't say anything to them. Their stricken voices as he'd heard them speaking to Potter in the hospital wing had not left his ears, following him into his dreams as he heard their feelings in their words. The only thing he could do was glare at them as Hagrid began the class, but he knew the expression was halfhearted at best, especially when all three of them stared at him rather peculiarly, especially Weasley, who didn't say anything to him either. For once, Care of Magical Creatures went by with no verbal spats or insults.

Instead of spending any time in the common room last night, Draco had gone straight to his dormitory, his mind a churning sea of thoughts. If he wasn't thinking about the enormous revelation Snape had trusted him with, he was replaying the scene of Potter's friends in the hospital wing, their faces so full of things that Draco had never seen shown to him. The only exception he could think of was the look on his mother's face when he'd been ill as a boy. Still, that memory only brought back the recollection of Lucius looking at Narcissa very sternly. "Draco does not need your coddling." His voice had been disparaging. "All children get ill, Narcissa. I have things I need your assistance with, and it is rather foolish to sit for hours by his bedside." He'd shot a rather dismissive glance towards Draco as he took the cool washcloth off the boy's forehead - Narcissa had placed it there to soothe the fever that had been inflicting him. Hurt had swelled up in Draco's six-year-old heart - the cloth had felt good, and his mother had been in the middle of telling him a story. It wasn't fair.

And ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, he'd seen so many people look at Potter with devotion and adoration, and envy and spite had eaten Draco alive. It was one of those things that killed him to acknowledge - but he was bitterly jealous of the other boy. When the truth had finally slammed into him upon seeing the way Potter's friends had surrounded his bed in the hospital wing, he'd barely slept a wink as his mind turned it around and around and around.

And last night had been the same - Draco's mind was nothing more than a seething, frothing mass of thoughts as the rest of his House went to the Great Hall, did homework, and hung out in the common room. Draco lay on his bed, closing his eyes to block out the pure chaos his life had become.

Theodore Nott had returned to the dorm after dinner, which Draco had not attended because his appetite was missing, so that he could do homework. Though he hadn't made a derisive comment all day, he'd apparently been waiting till the right moment to do so. "Looks like someone's having a hard time," he sneered as he rudely ripped open the curtains on Draco's bed, seeing him lying on it with his eyes closed. "What's the matter, Malfoy?" His voice was quiet, but there was an incredible amount of malice contained in it. "I would have thought you'd want to tell your dear father about whatever's ailing you. Is it not something he can fix, for once?"

"Shut up, Nott." Draco didn't have the energy to come up with anything more inspiring. Nott, looking disgusted, had simply walked away.

And now, as Draco went through another day of mindless classes, he couldn't be more relieved that today was Friday. He could stay in his room all weekend, and he didn't give a bloody damn what anyone thought.

However, that plan was derailed the instant he returned to the dungeons after his last class. It had taken him longer to get back than most of his classmates, as he had walked at a much slower pace due to feeling so unwell - Crabbe and Goyle had stopped following him when he'd snapped at them to leave him alone. He'd spent all day trying to ignore the strange looks teachers were giving him, and the way his classmates whispered to each other as they shot sidelong glances at him. He just had to get through the day, and that would be it. He'd have the entire weekend to himself.

He walked into the dungeons, and was almost at the common room when a spell hit him out of nowhere. "Petrificus Totalus."

The culprit was none other than Henry Montague, who leered down at him as Draco's arms and legs snapped together. Flabbergasted, his mind went into overdrive as he tried to move, but to no avail.

Montague laughed at him. "How pathetic." His voice was a perfect, cultured drawl. "Don't you agree, Cassius?"

Cassius Warrington's smirk was a truly nasty thing to behold. "Indeed, Henry. Now let's hurry - the others are waiting."

"All right. Let's go then," Montague said, a chuckle in his voice. "Wingardium Leviosa."

And as if Draco hadn't been humiliated enough for one lifetime, he felt himself being lifted off the ground, Montague and Warrington pointing their wands at him as they guided him ... somewhere. Draco didn't know where they were taking him, but did he really want to?

It was at that moment that jealousy reared up inside him, like a writhing great snake. He despised Harry Potter more in that second than he ever thought he had before, despite the awful revelations from two days ago. Potter was unconscious, completely unaware and oblivious to the world around him, his dearest supporters gathering at his side while people whispered about him in worried tones. Potter didn't have to deal with anything that was going on. Potter didn't have to suffer the indignity of being Levitated like a sack of potatoes. Potter didn't have to hear the nasty comments of two people he had once thought of as allies, completely unable to control his own body.

"Your father's not here to save you this time, dear Draco," Montague sing-songed. "How does it feel, to be all on your own?"

"And where's that eagle owl with all those sweets from your mummy?" Warrington taunted. "Poor baby. No lullabies for you. Too bad, so sad."

"Oh, don't look so frightened. Your eyes give you away," Montague drawled. "We're only bringing you to our friends so we can have a little chat."

"No, Henry. He ought to know that he should, in fact, be frightened, because we're sick of his shit," Warrington added, his tone only becoming nastier.

Both boys snickered as they continued to Levitate Draco's body to Merlin knew where. His mind flashed back to when Zabini's Imperius Curse had gripped him. The thought struck him then - as diabolical and gut-wrenching as that had been when he came out of it, at least he'd only felt contented and relaxed while he was doing Blaise's bidding. Now, he couldn't move, but he could feel everything; all his senses were intact. Which situation did he prefer? The thought almost made him hysterical.

Desperation and helplessness clawed through him - he wished for nothing more than to break the spell's hold on him. Potter's face entered his mind again - he'd seemed to always have luck on his side, somehow being able to get out of the most insane situations, if the stories that had spread through the school over the years were to be believed. Another bolt of poisonous jealousy ripped through Draco as his terror only mounted. Montague and Warrington kept on smirking, knowing that they were making their victim feel even more powerless.

Finally, they seemed to reach their destination - it was an unused classroom deep in the heart of the dungeons. Hogwarts was home to many of these places, and Draco had always wondered why there were so many empty classrooms that teachers never used. He remembered the disgust he'd felt when hearing that most people used these places to engage in ... activities that were meant for bedrooms, not classrooms.

This one, however, contained three other boys who were sitting on chairs, all wearing similar expressions to Montague and Warrington. "It's about time you lot showed up," one of them sneered. "What took you so long?"

"This one took ages to come back from class," Montague drawled as he and Warrington carelessly dropped Draco so that he collapsed into an unceremonious heap on the floor. "We had to wait ages for him, the bloody wanker." Draco recognized the boy who had spoken to Montague and Warrington as Mark Heckby, a Slytherin sixth-year boy.

Kevin Simmons, Heckby's mate and the one who had taunted Draco in the Great Hall two days ago regarding the Dementor attack, snorted in a very undignified manner. "Of course," he muttered. "What else do you expect? He's far too busy worrying over Potter's welfare to be paying any attention to where he's going."

"How sad," the third boy snickered. His name was Drue Flinberg, a fifth-year who had somehow found his way into Heckby and Simmons's posse. "What would your daddy say if he found out you've been mooning over his enemy?"

Draco felt his face flush as an ugly emotion took hold of him. He desperately tried to move, to do anything to get out of these boys' predatory clutches, but the spell held him in place, preventing any such thing from occurring.

Simmons smirked at him. "We've had about enough of your obfuscation. How long did you think you'd be able to fool us for?"

"Silence is golden," Heckby drawled as he looked down at Draco, like a crocodile who was about to devour its victim whole. "Nothing to say for yourself, Malfoy?"

You know very well that I cannot speak. Draco felt his heart racing in his chest, bitterness pervading every inch of his soul.

"Oops." Warrington uttered casually. "We forgot - your voice is currently lost to you." Raising his wand, he cast two spells in quick succession. "Finite Incantatem. Incarcerous."

Draco was released from the full body-bind, but before he could do anything, the second spell hit him and he was tied up in magical ropes. Once again, he thought of Zabini and how, during that altercation, it hadn't phased him at all when that spell had been cast on him. He'd sat in that chair quite happily.

And now, Draco lay there, helpless, feeling completely the opposite. "Now answer us," Heckby drawled, lazily flicking his wand. A jolt of pain shot through Draco, so intense that it felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him. He remembered his father telling him about the spell and that, if it was cast on a person too many times, they could go into cardiac arrest. He remembered the smug, gleeful tone Lucius had used when telling his son about the Dark Arts.

"Know that one, do you?" Montague chuckled cruelly. "Did dear Daddy teach it to you?"

"Your father's a coward, Malfoy. Nothing more than a slimy, slippery coward." Flinberg's voice was filled with loathing. "The Dark Lord gave him everything and he defied him by pretending he doesn't exist."

It wasn't a secret that Warrington, Montague, Simmons, Flinberg, and Heckby's fathers had all been Death Eaters. They weren't of a very high rank, being much farther down the ladder than Lucius Malfoy had been. All five of them had gone to Azkaban for their crimes and were still there now. Their mothers, who had never participated in any Death Eater activity, were sympathetic to the cause nevertheless, as Narcissa was. She'd never had a Dark Mark branded on her forearm, but agreed with the Dark Lord's ideology.

At that moment, Draco had flashbacks to Crouch Jr's attack on him, and he felt dread seize him. Snape hadn't been wrong. No matter what Lucius had told him, some people were honestly never going to forgive him for doing the prudent thing and going back out into regular society so that he could help his Master return. Lucius had reassured Draco that their family would be forgiven, and rise higher in the ranks than ever before. The Dark Lord would be able to see the strategy of families like the Malfoys.

But all the other boys in the room looked the total opposite of forgiving. Draco had found his voice, however, and he blurted out his desperate thoughts, helpless to stop words from tumbling out of his mouth. "Just because your fathers want to rot away in a cell ... that's not very intelligent, is it?" he hissed, struggling in his bonds. "At least my father can help the Dark Lord return."

But as he said the words, he realized that they held absolutely no conviction. Last year, he would have said them with the complete certainty that what he was saying was true. Now, however, Snape's words concerning his betrayal of the Dark Lord echoed in his mind, mixed with the strength contained in Potter's eyes as he spoke the Dark Lord's name with no fear at all. He once again recalled the blinding light of Snape's Patronus, for a split second experiencing the pure wonder of it. Her light shone through the Ministry atrium, chasing away the demonic creatures that had shown Draco nothing but bad memory after bad memory.

Heckby snorted. "Your family is nothing, Malfoy," he sneered, practically spitting out the word "family" with a venom that filled Draco with raw fear. "We may have let you get away with strutting around like you're the king of the castle," he added disgustedly. "But no longer. Who's the dirty rascal now?" All five boys laughed as Heckby shot the lightning spell at him again, causing Draco to let out an involuntary cry of pain.

"So weak," Flinberg breathed. "So pathetic. We've always had our eyes on you, Malfoy. And we couldn't help but notice that you've been changing."

"What's the deal with Zabini?" Simmons asked suddenly, a malicious gleam in his eyes. "We know it's no coincidence you ended up in the hospital wing the same day he was caught. And it was further proven by the fact you were asked to testify at his trial. You do know it's been rescheduled, don't you, or have you been too preoccupied with ... other matters ... to learn that it's in ten days' time?"

"And the talk is that Potter isn't well," Flinberg added gleefully. "I reckon the trial will have to soldier on without the Boy-Who-Lived. His adoring little sycophant friends are tight-lipped as usual - they don't like us common folk knowing what's going on, you know. They're far too good for any of us." He sneered. "But they're walking around like Potter's kicked the bucket."

"And you don't look much better. Why is that, hmm?" Montague asked in a mock conversational tone. "Do tell."

Draco didn't know when it was that all emotion had switched off, but it had indeed done so while the boys had been smirking and posturing like they had all the time in the world. "You're not going to get away with this." The familiar words rose to his lips like a prayer.

This time, Flinberg punched him in the jaw, resorting to crude Muggle methods in order to hurt Draco. "Answer the question, Malfoy." His voice was uncompromising. "No one is coming to save you. Not anyone. Most people aren't even aware of this classroom's existence. The traitor Snape does, but he's ... currently unavailable."

Simmons smirked. "Let's just say there's been a ... Potions accident that happened less than an hour ago. That's been keeping him rather busy," he murmured, sounding delighted at the prospect.

Draco lay with his face pressed against the floor. Snape ... what had happened to Snape? Sudden fear for the man who had, only three days ago, confessed to being a turncoat invaded his mind for a split second.

But there was no time to think about Snape. Draco wouldn't answer these boys' questions, whether they were about Zabini or Potter or anything else. They could do whatever they wanted. He was past caring about anything anymore. Everything inside him seemed to cease - it had all become too much.

He let the round of taunts and jibes slide right past him. He had no idea how long it was that the boys threw questions at him, either casting spells or physically assaulting him when he didn't answer. His mouth let out occasional grunts of pain, and he was surprised, in a rather detached sort of way, that his tearducts no longer seemed to work. Maybe he'd cried himself dry over the last few days.

"Can we go now? This is getting boring." Heckby looked down at Draco's inert form, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"Fine," Simmons spat. "You're right. There's nothing more to do here."

"Except this," Warrington said as he casually flicked his wand, untying Draco from the magical ropes. But it didn't matter - it wasn't like Draco could stand. His body felt as though it had been hit by the Hogwarts Express. Flinberg smirked nastily - and cast one more spell.

And Draco felt himself shrinking - shrinking - shrinking - and the sensation was horribly, horribly familiar. "OH NO YOU DON't, LADDIE!" Simmons mimicked, causing the other four boys to guffaw as Draco's body continued to shrink.

Those words ... they were familiar too. Those words had shown up in his nightmares so many times that he could perfectly recall the cadence of them, the exact way in which each syllable had escaped the lips of Barty Crouch, Jr's mouth.

Draco Malfoy had truly come full circle. As the other boys left the room, taking Draco's wand with them and locking the door securely behind them, they left behind nothing more than a traumatized, helpless, bleeding white ferret.