Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Thanks to diligent reviewers out there who pointed out mistakes made in the first chapter. My memory served me wrong. It was of course in the third movie where Hermione hit Draco and not the fifth. The chapter was also written before I had actually seen The Half Blood Prince film. From now on I'll do my homework! For this chapter I've read sections of the original movie script. I'm sure you'll recognize elements of the scenes from the HBP. Thanks again for wonderful reviews!


Evening approached, and Draco had spent the day watching everybody pack up and leave. It felt so wrong to watch everyone pack their suitcases while they boasted about their expectations for Christmas, or what they were confident they were going to get. It felt wrong not be a part of that. But Draco had nowhere to go. He couldn't go home to Malfoy Manor. There was nobody he could go with to celebrate Christmas. No one knew, and when they asked him, he lied and said he was going to spend the break catching up on some reading. Inside, his heart bled for not just himself but for his mother.

He took his books under his arm and trudged off to the Great Hall for supper. He was curious as to see how many there would be left. Someone always stayed behind, but they were usually the wrong sort. Had been the wrong sort, he corrected himself. With any luck, perhaps Luna was there. Or some of the Hufflepuff girls. The easy kind. All these months spreading his legs to the eudaimon, and Draco was sure more than ever that he was definitely not gay. He longed to touch those soft, heaving bosoms, and he could spend hours each day scoping out the pretty ones, comparing them to each other, wondering what he'd find beneath their skirts. Draco wasn't completely without education in that department, but fondling Pansy was rather boring. She was the calculative sort, hooking him on and reeling him in if she'd caught a fish, and she never gave anything up for free. Give and take, and he had seldom been in the receiving end. It hadn't been for nothing, though. At the age of sixteen, Draco knew his way around the female genitalia. He knew what buttons to push and he did it well. And Pansy was the sort of girl who got violent when she got aroused. She liked it rough, and Draco wasn't sure he wanted to play on that field. He was glad he'd broken up with her. He wanted passion, yes. Hot and steamy, oh yes. But his mother had done one good job with him, and that was 'respect your woman'. He liked it when the women were overwhelmed and completely in his hands. And if they refused, then he would respectfully leave them hung out to dry. That way they always came back for more, thinking they were in control.

Draco had, from what he'd understood, very respectful parents. They'd obviously been in the sack once together, hence Draco, otherwise they lived more or less separate lives but under the same roof. His aunt Bellatrix had once said that she was sure that Narcissa had married Lucius out of duty, just as she had married her husband. It was both the privilege and the burden of a pure-blood witch to do her duty and marry another pure-blood. For the sake of the family's honour. At the time it was said, Draco had nodded in agreement. Now, he didn't know anymore. What respectable pure-blood witch would want to marry him, a loser who'd let down his family, his master and himself? Who would want a filthy boy like him?
Brooding, he strode quickly through the desolate and cold corridors. He heard a door open, and then it creaked shut with a bang. Hasty steps ensued, and Draco thought he recognized them.

“Draco? Draco Malfoy!” Draco heard the authoritative voice of Professor Snape. Draco shut his eyes tight and sighed. He halted, waiting for Snape to catch up with him. The moment Snape approached, he grabbed the blond by the arm over to the corridor where it split in two. Dragging him into the shadows there, Snape let go off his arm. Leaning in against the wall, feeling extremely uncomfortable to the point of panic, Draco eyed him. Snape was scrutinizing him.

“You're looking unwell as of late. You're afraid, Draco. You attempt to conceal it, but it's obvious. Let me assist you in bringing down Dumbledore” Snape said, adding emphasis on the word 'assist', “so we can end it and start a new era.”

“I can't do it” Draco blurted out, “I can't!” His heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode soon. This was it. The moment he'd been dreading.

“Orders given by the Dark Lord must be obeyed one way or the other. I swore to protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow - “

“- then you must complete the task for me! All is lost now. I can never restore my family's honour!” Draco sobbed.

“What is it? What has occurred? What event has taken place to distract you so? You've acted out of sorts of late, Draco Malfoy! You associate yourself more and more with Gryffindors and less with your fellow Slytherins. You're a ghost of your former self, desperate, driven by some...great-” Snape slurred, hesitated and observed Draco's face, looking for inspiration to his last word. Draco dropped the books and rolled up his sleeve, exposing his bare arm.

“The Dark Mark! It is gone!” Snape hissed. He grabbed Draco by the collars while he said: “What happened to it? Only magic greater than the Dark Lord's himself can perform such a task! Name it!”

“It's an eudaimon” Draco sobbed, “he came to me as my father...-!”

Snape suddenly snapped his head up as something caught his attention across the corridor. His dark eyes widened. Turning his head to see, Draco froze as he beheld the eudaimon from head to foot, his great black feathered wings heaving slightly. The eudaimon reached out with one hand towards Snape, who immediately was lifted from the ground and slammed against the nearest wall. Out of breath, student and professor watched as the eudaimon walked over to the intersection of corridors. He stopped just a few metres from Draco. He kept his gaze on Snape all the time, who was watching wide-eyed through tendrils of dark locks of hair hanging in his face.

“You will inform your master Voldemort” the eudaimon spoke softly, “that Draco Malfoy has been relieved of all his sworn duties as a Death Eater. And should your master Voldemort attempt to recruit again or to destroy young Malfoy, then I will take it as a personal offence. Voldemort's little game is of no consequence to me presently. I consider him a necessary evil for the time being.” Cocking his head slightly, brown angelic-like curls cascaded down the eudaimon's left shoulder. Fire gleamed in his dark eyes as he locked gazes with Snape until the professor's confidence suddenly shattered, and he broke the staring challenge. Looking up again, he saw the eudaimon turn to Malfoy. He cupped the boy's chin carefully in his left hand, before he spoke again, saying: “There's a new player in town, and he's just getting started!” Draco shut his eyes and swallowed hard. “He's right. You're looking unwell, Draco Malfoy. I don't think you're getting enough sleep!” The eudaimon let the final sarcasm linger in the air. Stepping in to the nearest shadow on the wall opposing the one Draco was pressing himself to, the eudaimon simply vanished. Only then, did Draco dare to breathe again. He glanced over to Snape, who'd gotten back on his feet. Snape was wearing an expression of great surprise. It had dawned on him why and what Draco had been struggling with the past months, but his concern quickly faded as he realized what a backdraw this was for Lord Voldemort's plans.

“Please!” Draco exclaimed as Snape was about to whizz by. “ Please don't tell anybody!” Snape stopped and glared sourly at him. “I-I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get rid of him! Please help me!” Draco whimpered. Somewhere inside he was relieved to finally be able to come forward with it, to ask for help.

“Draco! Snape began, obviously choosing his words carefully, “you have been targeted by an eudaimon – a power greater than Voldemort himself. There is no help to be given. There are no remedies. I have seen the miserable results myself, I've seen the victims and the way they chose to end it. For what it's worth, my boy, I am truly sorry.” Something akin to sympathy played across the sombre professor's features, before he turned on his heel and walked away hurriedly. Draco remained with his hands stretched out in a plea for help, while Snape's words began to sink it. Draco lowered his arms. Snape confirmed the information Draco had found in the old book. Draco would die a horrible death. He picked up his books with shaky fingers and got his legs working again. Making it over to the Great Hall, he glanced up to see the few students gathered there. He could see it in their eyes: There was another loser with no home to go to.


Christmas Eve.
It was around noon when Draco received a message that his mother were at the front gates of Hogwarts' property. The owl also carried a letter. He sighed shallowly before opening it.


My dear boy.
I hear such dreadful news from our Snape. Please, I must see you! I am at the gate, and I shall not leave until you show yourself.
Your mother.


Blotches of dried tears stained the scroll. Draco shut his eyes tight. He shuddered to think what she would say, but he knew he had to go. He got dressed, combed his hair and put on his shoes. It was cold and he wrapped himself in a nice, thick winter jacket made from grey wool. He threw a Slytherin scarf around his neck and put on gloves and a nice and thick cap.

He couldn't cross the gates, and she couldn't enter. She reached for him through the bars, and she stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. She gasped at his pale complexion. Draco took off his gloves and twined his fingers with hers, squeezing them hard. He'd meant not to cry, but being in his mother's presence, holding the tears back was difficult. Narcissa shed tears as well. For long moments, mother and son stood close, holding each other through the bars.

“My dear boy!” she sobbed into his ear, “my dear boy!” She kissed his forehead and caressed his white-blond hair with her fingers.

“Snape!” Draco sobbed, “he said there is no hope for me!”

“There must be someone who can help you!” Narcissa cried, “Lord Voldemort must know a way!”

“Anything, mum, anything. I don't want to die!”

“Come home to me, sweetheart, I promise, everything will be fine! You'll never have to go back to Hogwarts again-!” Narcissa cut herself short as she realised that her precious son was staring wide-eyed at something behind her. The guards at the gate were aiming their wands, ready to engage in battle, and as she turned, she nearly fell over.

Silhouetted against the pristine snow, was a black-dressed man in his thirties sporting large black feathered wings. The long brown, slightly curled hair was gently blown back by a cold breeze, and he was eyeing mother and son with a wicked grin.

Awestruck with what she saw, Narcissa registered only too late that her son struggled to disentangle himself from their embrace. She turned her head back to Draco just in time to see his face, pale as snow, stark with dread, before he turned on his heel and ran for his life back to Hogwarts. Then, and only then, did she realize she had lost the battle for her son even before it had begun. She cried out her son's name, fighting against the bars of the gate which separated her from her only child. Then, sorrow overcame her and Narcissa Malfoy sank down to her knees. Tears blurred her vision as she watched Draco's running figure disappear behind a slope. There she remained until twillight, while her world fell apart. Lucius imprisoned. Her son in the hands of an eudaimon. He would be dead in a matter of weeks, maybe months, depending on what torture the eudaimon put him through. It was like getting a deadly disease with no hope for a cure. She, herself, was very soon turned out on the streets. Bellatrix was fetching home new Death Eaters each day. Vile, disgusting creatures with dark desires in their eyes. It was becoming a strain on her already weakened mental state after what happened to Lucius. To have come so far only to fall.

Draco hoped the eudaimon had followed. It was the only thing he could think of; To separate himself from her in order to protect her. He had jeopardized her!

Hearing the beat of giant wings made him turn his head, and to his relief and both dread at the same time, he saw that the eudaimon had followed. He tripped and fell, and before he could get back on his feet, the eudaimon was over him. He was dragged out of sight and into the nearest forest which obscured them both as twilight rapidly settled in. Draco kicked and wriggled all the while he could, thinking he would soon be immobilized. Which is why he was stunned as the first punch hit him in his nose with blood gushing out violently. He heard a wooden branch crack somewhere, and just as he got his bearings, he was hit in the head with a large piece of wood. Draco tumbled over as his vision blurred, and he managed to raise his arms up in defence as the next blow fell. He felt a rib or four give way as a particularly forceful blow was directed to his ribcage, and Draco howled in pain. He felt as if he could scarcely breathe as he was rolled over onto his back. He could hardly move, and he kept blindly reaching for his assailant as Draco's groggy mind realised that the winged creature was dragging off him his pants. Draco had no energy left, and breathing hurt like hell. The snow burned against his naked flesh, and he sobbed out his objections one minute before he called for help in the next. He was mounted quickly and unceremoniously, and because of the broken ribs and the haze of pain it created, Draco didn't feel much of the intrusion into his rectum. Looking up against the face of the eudaimon – Melchior was his name but not that it did Draco any good at the moment – Draco was met by a contemptuous and cold stare. Draco cringed in pain with every thrust. It hurt immensely in his torso with every jolt to his abdomen. The pain fanned out until it included his entire back and he tried to grit his teeth to endure the pain. It ended abruptly, and Draco heard the eudaimon growl out his pleasure as he came. Pulling out, the eudaimon was quickly back on his legs. His dark eyes twinkled in the light of the moon, and the pale blue light settled as a halo, playing with the long brown strands of curls. A truly ethereal creature which Draco in any other situation might have had admired for its ferocious beauty. Now, lying bloody and broken on the snowy ground, Draco saw only its absolute evil.

Madam Pomfrey nearly fell off her chair when she saw the battered and bloodied boy in Hagrid's strong arms. She instantly recognized him as Draco Malfoy, and she dispatched a message to both Dumbledore and Snape, who was the head of the house of the Slytherins. But with both away, she turned to Professor McGonagall, who in turn arrived shortly after while Madam Pomfrey had begun dressing the boy's wounds.

“It-it was an awful mess, professor!” Hagrid said, sounding extremely concerned. “I was just sittin' down, you know. Pork roast ready and mashed potatoes. A wee bit of wine...! And just outside me door, all this howlin' began. And me dear ol' Fang starts howlin' too! And blimey me, if not a dozen or so wolves have lined up outside me front door! And I got me torch and me shotgun and out in the freezin' wild and I kept thinkin': Rubeus hagrid, yer an idiot fer followin' a bunch of wolves on Christmas Eve. Can't possibly be good fer ye health! But blimey if they didn't lead me straight tha' young Mr. Malfoy 'ere, as if they knew he was in trouble! Is he goin' tha' be allright?”

The question lingered in the air for a while, before Madam Pomfrey looked from Draco's wounds and up to Hagrid's concerned yet bushy face.
“He's got quite a severe concussion. That's the worst damage. Then there's at least three broken ribs and possibly damage to the poor boy's lungs.” Madam Pomfrey spoke softly and quietly as not to upset Draco. She shot Professor McGonagall a meaningful glance, as if saying; There's more, but I'll tell you of that later.

Only when Hagrid had been properly thanked and dismissed back to his cosy cottage where a rather cold pork roast awaited – if it awaited at all, it could just be in the belly of Fang by then, Hagrid thought to himself – did Madam Pomfrey dare to share the rest of her knowledge with Professor McGonagall.

“It seems” she began quietly, “that poor Mr. Malfoy has suffered other damages as well. The bruises around his thighs, the tattered and torn trousers, oh it's all so very very cruel!” she sighed to Professor McGonagall. I'm afraid someone has abused the poor boy in a most disgraceful manner.”
Professor McGonagall was shocked. She stood for a moment just reading Madam Pomfrey's glum expression of face before she dared to utter her thoughts. “You mean to say he has been...raped?”

Madam Pomfrey's lips had been pressed together to a near invisible thin line on her face. It was such a horrid word to utter, and the very thought of anyone capable of such an action was beyond her. Still, it was known to happen to not just unfortunate girls, but sometimes boys as well.

“Snape will of course have to be informed, as well as Dumbledore. If we have a rapist here at Hogwarts, then he must be sought out and stopped before he can harm anyone else!” Professor McGonagall talked hurriedly. All though Draco wasn't a Gryffindor, she felt equally strong for all Hogwarts' students. It was distressing to see such a young – and relatively innocent boy as Malfoy was – bruised and beaten. And on Christmas Eve! She did however resign herself to the fact that there was nothing more she could do for him except bear witness to his injuries. She left him in the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, and went to her chambers.


A short voyage.
Draco had been at sea many times during his younger years. Every summer, he would go sailing with his father and mother. He enjoyed the wind in his platinum hair and the smell of sea in his nostrils. He would stand by the railing for hours, watching the crew work and sweat, or he would follow the coastline with his gaze, dreaming himself away to someplace great. The kingdom of Draco Malfoy! That had been his childhood dream. King Draco. The Dragon King. Oh yes, he liked the ring to that!

But Draco couldn't remember his father's ship having red sails. And the crew didn't look the same either. They were...different. Grimmer. Paler. Scarier. Oh shit. They were ghosts!

Stumbling backwards, Draco felt something warm and wet trickle down his forehead. Touching his left temple, he realised it was blood dripping down on his shoulder. And he had a terrible ache in his side, as if he'd been running to fast and got a cramp in his muscles. A huge shadow came towards him, and upon looking up, Draco stared into the face of – well, he was rather familiar, but Draco couldn't quite place him. A news paper article maybe? The man's eyes glowed like gold. He wore a white bandana around his forehead and his long brown curls which reached down to his waist, were ordained with gold and silver trinkets. Almost two heads taller than Draco, the man glanced down at the white-blond before he propped his fists on each side of his waist and said: “It's not your time yet, Draco Malfoy. Live a little longer.” The last sentence was spoken with a softness, yes Draco could almost make out sympathy, or a hint of care. But the man himself seemed chiselled out from a block of darkness. Pitch black, impenetrable darkness. “Now get off my ship!”

Stunned, Draco looked around for the exit. But there were none. He was actually looking for a door. Or a stair or something solid. For the ship was drifting in absolute nothingness. A grey, cold nothingness.

“I – I can't!” Draco protested, almost pleaded. “It's – I mean, I can't get off. Your ship, Sir.” Draco continued. He strayed over to the railing, then over to the opposite railing, but that felt wrong as well.

“Oh, do get over yourself, Mr. Malfoy” the tall man laughed. Draco turned to face him again, coming to a halt just where he'd been standing a few seconds ago. Looking over his shoulder, he suddenly saw a large square hole in the deck.

“Wha – what's that?!” Draco almost cried, referring to the gaping square hole.

“That would be your exit. Have a nice life, Mr. Malfoy! Say hello to my son for me, would you?!”

Before Draco could reply or react, the tall man thrust out his hand and pushed Draco so he fell down into the square hole. Expecting to land hard a few meters below the opening, he panicked as he just fell and fell for what seemed like an eternity of seconds.

Draco Malfoy awoke on Boxing Day. His head didn't feel so bad until he attempted to sit up in bed. Madam Pomfrey was there in a flash, reassuring him he'd be all right. At first, he didn't quite remember what had happened. And he spent most of the day dozing, getting to grips with the hurt in his ribcage. The pain had lessened considerably thanks to Madam Pomfrey's spells. But as day faded to afternoon, the memories flooded his mind. By the time Professor Snape and the Headmaster, Dumbledore finally had time to see him, Draco was dissolved in tears. He quickly wiped them away as best as he could. Showing weakness was something Malfoy wasn't used to, especially not in front of Dumbledore. Internally, Draco braced himself for whatever was to come. He glanced up at Snape, who had a frown of sympathy playing across his pale forehead.
“Initially I was very sorry to hear that a student had been attacked on campus. Then I was both shocked and saddened to hear reports from the guards at the gate, about what they saw. And on my way over here, Snape tells me that you sought him for help against this Eudaimon.” Dumbledore put his hand on supportingly on top of Draco's left arm which rested on the bed next to Dumbledore's knees. He had seated himself next the white-blond boy. “I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must be going through, Draco-”

“- how is my mum? Is she all right?!” Draco suddenly asked.

“She is fine. But despaired, of course. Draco, Eudaimons are a rare breed of demons, and a strange sight to behold as they mostly keep to the Muggle world. All though we don't have it presently, I'm sure the Muggles must know a way to defeat them.”

“You mean to say I have reason to hope?”

“Yes, Draco. We must never give up hope. But tell me, how long has the eudaimon been targeting you?

“Since...since September” Draco replied. “Am I to be expelled?” Draco held his breath. “I mean...” Draco glanced at Snape who was slowly and quietly shaking his head, his eyes glowing persistently, speaking volumes. Draco needed to shut up now.

“Of course not, Draco, you've done nothing wrong! None of what happened in the forest is your fault!” Dumbledore exclaimed.

“But you know that eudaimons only target bad people, right?”

“Whatever reason the eudaimon has, is a matter entirely between you and him. It will not matter if you tell me or not, for once the eudaimon has targeted you, it's a contract. And it's binding. You're living with a death sentence. I will not lie to you Draco, I will most likely not find a way to free you. September you say? Hm, you've lasted longer than most victims. I would choose my time carefully in the future, Draco. Think about making peace with your enemies. And love the ones you hold dear. A part from your mother, has the nearest family been informed?”

“No. I don't want them to know. It's, well, I'd rather this stayed between us. I don't want people asking a lot of questions.”

“Very well, then. There is of course no reason for you to stay. If you'd rather be spending your time at home with your mother, you'll of course be excused from your lessons...!”

“No! He'll hurt her if I try to go near her!”

“He told you that?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in wonder.

“Yes. He said he'd make me do horrible things to her.”

Dumbledore turned to glance at Snape, exchanging meaningful glances.

“Would you consider him a threat to the student body?” Dumbledore asked Draco. “Is there reason to suspect that he would..., how to put it, exercise influence over you and make you harm other students?”

“No. Wouldn't he have done so sooner? Sir, please, I would rather stay here and go on with my studies for as long as possible. If I am to walk around aimlessly...! It's depressing enough as it is!”

“You have a point there, Draco. Do what you must. If it helps you, then you're welcome to stay. Have you been able to find out his name?”

“He calls himself Melchior of the Sparrows.” Draco's heart sank to his feet as he witnessed the reaction on Dumbledore's face. The headmaster went pale and silent, glancing up at Snape.

“My dear boy...” he sighed. 'You are doomed' Draco thought he read from Dumbledore's body language. He watched the old man get up from the chair. He suddenly looked fifty years older.

Dumbledore took his leave, but Snape lingered.

“There is no way out other than death, is there?” Draco asked. “He only meant to cheer me up.”

“Unquestionably, I'm afraid.” Snape replied flatly. He sighed briefly before he said: “The Dark Lord is now working to find your replacement, someone with the skill to fulfil your tasks. It would seem that your chance of redemption in the eyes of the Dark Lord have come to an abrupt end. Insanity is not to be taken lightly.”

“Neither is death” Draco replied.

“In deed.”

Draco watched as the former Slytherin sidled out of the medical wing. At least one good piece of news. Draco didn't have to worry about Voldemort's wrath anymore. He was truly becoming insignificant, just as the eudaimon said he was. Then again, now the disgrace was complete. There was no way he could restore the good Malfoy name now.

He was back on his feet in time to join the festivities at New Year's Eve. Dumbledore had arranged wonderful fireworks, and Draco watched the magic illuminate the dark sky with tears in his eyes. Every single night, Madam Pomfrey had sat next to his bed, watching over him. But as she said, if the eudaimon struck, then she would have no way of defending him. Never the less, her presence had been more than welcoming. But new year's eve would be his first night alone again after the onslaught he'd suffered in the woods. He was the only one left in his room which he shared with five other students. It was dark, lonely and depressing, and Draco feared the worst. He joined the only other two slytherins which were staying. They were last year students, and they'd smuggled in alcohol beverages which they were currently pouring down their throats.

“Hey, Malfoy! Want a beer?” It was Sturd the Turd, as they called him, and he was considered the Bully of Bullies. He was everything Draco wasn't. Cornelius Augustus Sturd, another prime example of Pure-bloods, and he prided himself on a longer lineage of pure-bloods which could match the Malfoys any day. He was short, stumpy, fat and extremely stupid. His grades never amounted to anything higher than doubtful Acceptables. Sturd the Turd was a boy of few words. Unlike Draco, who could inject pain and hurt with every syllable, Sturd the Turd was near mute in that department. He preferred real, physical pain, and had more than once been threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts. Sturdy the Birdy, the Gryffindors called him. And it was about the only joke about him which he understood. Sturd was, in fact anything but a slender, graceful bird, hence the joke. Draco could toss about any indecency he could think of against Sturd the Turd and he'd never get it no matter how hard the fat bastard tried. So Draco had given up after three years of shit-throwing. Sturd was a lost case. He'd never break simply because he had no mental capacity to speak of. Hermione Granger had been a completely different story. It ached somewhere inside Draco to think of all the things he'd thrown in her way.

Sturd got up and practically put the beer can in Draco's hand. And Draco knew better than to turn him down. The brute would snap him like a twig.
Sturd's companion was the two metres tall Heiny Frances Goleiny. Or Tiny Heiny, as he had been nicknamed. He was a black-haired freak who made Snape appear as a perfect Sunday stroll in comparison. There were all sorts of rumours about Heiny Frances Goleiny. He was top of his class in Potions, and he dazed McGonagall with his Transfiguration skills during the O.W.Ls last year. As compared to Sturd, Goleiny was a calculative, slimy and manipulative git who saw instant profit in other people's misery. He had many qualities in common with Draco, and they'd hung out quite a lot last year. Heiny was tall yet he behaved himself gracefully. He was a total beanstalk yet the girls swooned over him falling for his dirty tricks like flies. One of the nastier rumours about Tiny Heiny - another antonym for the size of his penis (Draco knew just how tiny it was; It resembled a small worm choking on a leafy snack because of the way it wobbled when Heiny washed himself in the showers) – was that when he got it off with the ladies, he'd secretly undo their anti-pregnant spells. When realisation dawned on the unfortunate females a few months later and they came to confront him, he would retaliate and blackmail them for money, threatening to make them the laughing stock of all of Hogwarts. Thus, Heiny had become a wealthy orphan. Knowing all this, Draco seated himself carefully in one of the deep armchairs. His rectum still hurt. He wasn't much up for talking at all. But any company was at the moment good company, considering the night Draco had to look forward to.

“Hey Malfoy,nice scabs!” Sturd the Turd nodded approvingly in his direction. “Heard you had a run-in with a pack of wolves. Awesome!” He was talking about the healing wounds Draco had on his left temple.

“Whatever were you doing in the woods on Christmas Eve? I simply have to ask.” Tiny Heiny said, taking a mouthful of mead.

“Uhm, actually I was looking for wolf's blood. For a potion I've been experimenting on lately” Draco lied.

“Cool! What does it do?” Tiny Heiny wanted to know. Now there was a tricky question. Tiny Heiny knew about every potion in the book.

“It's a potion that turns somebody's head into the head of a wolf. And since Hermione's got bushy hair and a growling disposition every time I approach her, I thought she'd be the perfect vict-, uh, test subject” Draco lied again. Tiny Heiny and Sturd the Turd roared out loud. Tiny Heiny was laughing so hard he got himself a violent cough. Seeing how his friend's face turned purple got Sturd laughing so hard the fat on his body was shaking in time with the fits. Watching two big time losers like Heiny and Sturd was proving to be a relief. Draco prayed silently that his little joke about Hermione wouldn't do any harm. He watched Tiny Heiny get back on his feet, and he slumped heavily back into his armchair.

“Now, about practical jokes? Here's one for you, Malfoy. We were just talking about it around supper earlier on today.” He took another sip of his nearly empty bottle. “Do you know who Loony Lovegood is?”

“Yeah?” Draco replied.

“Apparently, she sleepwalks! And to keep herself safe, she ties a rope around her waist, right? Now, how stupid is that?! A bloody rope?” Tiny roared.

“And?” Malfoy played along, seemingly unimpressed but by all means interested.

“So Sturd and I are gonna cut the rope!” Draco watched Sturd laugh so hard he fell out of his chair.

“You're going to cut the rope. And then what? She gets to walk around all by her lonesome?”

“No no, we lead her outside, right? Into the snow? Right. And if that doesn't wake her, we'll lead her down to the lake! Think of it man! What a nice chilly wake-up call that'll be! She'll be cured of sleep-walking then, that's for sure!” Heiny cackled, obviously proud of his own ingenuity.

“And you don't think she'll report it?” Draco asked. The dreadful scenario was quickly sobering him up.

“Report it? Loony is so loony that she won't even know a diddle about who or why she got there, right?”

“Oh my what a surprise, I've gone and got myself all wet” Sturdy said with girly voice, impersonating Luna.

“So when are you going to pull this little stunt of yours off?” Draco said, sensing his voice was slightly trembling. He put on a vicious grin – a good old fashioned dirty Draco Malfoy grin – for show, hoping it was convincing.

Going to bed that night, he kept thinking about Luna, imagining how it would be like to all of the sudden wake up in icy water. Luna never wore shoes. She hardly seemed to know what cold was. Come Saturday night, he'd have to watch her, whether or not the eudaimon lurked about in the shadows. His newfound conscience wouldn't allow any other option. Knowing Tiny Heiny and Sturd, they'd rather let her drown than take responsibility for their actions. And, a voice in the back of his mind added, should you go under with her, then you can at least say that you died with honour. Draco fell asleep, dreaming of rescuing Luna Lovegood in a river of silver.

At six a.m. Draco was still dreaming, only now he dreamt quite differently. He dreamt of the eudaimon Melchior. In his dream, Melchior had come to him, all draped in black flowing chiffon. The good demon's brown curls billowed in an unseen wind, obscuring his features. The feathers on his wings were gently moving, and it was all so quiet. The wall behind the eudaimon shifted. The bricks were undone and the wall was cracking up. Water spilled in and flooded the floor. But in his dream, Draco couldn't care less. The eudaimon mounted him in his bed, and Draco arched his neck, exposing his Adam's apple, moaning as pleasant feelings erupted. Draco felt the demon manhood fill him to its hilt, and he spread his legs further apart, hoisting them up in the air a little to allow the eudaimon better access. The water rippled more violently by each minute, building pressure in time as Draco felt himself drift away in absolute pleasure. 'Precious little dragon' the eudaimon whispered seductively into his ear. The breath tickled Draco's left ear, and it sent him reeling into a tidal wave of pleasure. Sections of brickwork came apart and jets of lake water soaked the furniture but Draco remained oblivious. The noise of pouring water was drumming in time with the loud beating of his heart, and his pulse was throbbing against the soft lips which nibbled away greedily on the soft flesh by his right earlobe. Draco bucked towards the weight of the moving, thrusting body on top of him. The wings above him emanated a strong scent of incense. Draco hands roamed the torso of his winged lover, his fingertips swept across hardened nipples partially covered by a chiffon tunic. Melchior bent down and caught Draco's lips with his own in a fierce kiss. Draco wrapped his legs around the small of Melchior's back, urging him to delve deeper into him. He wanted the eudaimon inside, really inside! Draco broke the kiss and curled up beneath the eduaimon and found his right nipple with his lips. Biting it gently and swirling his tongue about the bud, Draco hardly noticed how the bed was lifted and floated up inch by inch on the assembling mass of water. He dug his fingers into the abundance of curls and soft tendrils which cascaded down, mixing themselves with his white-blond locks. Draco was on fire, and the thirst inside him was unquenchable. The eudaimon changed his position so Draco could touch himself. Grabbing hold of Draco's thighs, Melchior dug his toes into the mattress and thrust on without a care. Draco's eruption came just moments afterwards, and he moaned out his pleasure, his voice drowning in the deafening noise of the water which was barely contained by a much destroyed brick wall. Upon coming back to his senses, Draco realized that the ceiling had suddenly come a lot closer, and he realised that when they hit it, he would die. He watched it approach, hoping for Melchior to erupt before it happened, thinking about how nice it was to die this way. He felt fulfilled. At peace. He had love. They were together. He wouldn't die alone. And just as the thought presented itself in his mind, did Draco realize it all was a dream. Wishful thinking.

As he awoke, Draco's mind kept on going at the same train of thought. Wishful thinking. Of course he'd be all alone when he died. He got out of bed and looked at his watch. Seven a.m. Putting on a black pair of slippers, he trudged off to the bathroom. It seemed awfully chilly. Just before he reached the door to the Slytherin common room, did he stop as realisation struck his mind. He wasn't wearing any underwear. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes he trudged back to the dorm. He found his boxers at the foot of the bed, beneath his sleeping blanket. Draco was sure he'd gone to bed with his boxers on. He wouldn't go and do something so silly as to go to bed in just his shirt. He put them on and sidled out to the bathroom. As nature presented its calling, Draco vanished into one of the booths, before he promptly pulled down his boxers and sat down on the toilet. That's when he felt it.

Marching back to his dorm, Draco shed tears on flushed cheeks. The bastard! He was furious and out of his mind with despair. There was no sleeping in late now, and he put on his clothes with stubborn, furious manners. Sitting down onto his bed without thinking made him wince in pain. Tears blurred his vision and he hardly managed to get his socks on. Fully dressed, he stormed out of the dorm, out to the Slytherin common room and from there out into the corridors following the stairs up to the Great Hall. He walked faster and faster, past the pendulum and outside the great front doors, dressed in black pants, black sweater and grey leisure jacket with the Slytherin house emblem on his back. He followed the path down to the roofed bridge leading across the great gap severing the castle grounds from the slopes down to Hagrid's cottage. He started running as he reached the roofed bridge, and he ran blindly across all the while his head was buzzing with despair. He wanted to lose himself. To run from the madness and the terror residing in his mind. He didn't want to go mad! He didn't want to die! Far below, the river thundered. Draco ran past the point where, unbeknown to him, years earlier Professor Lupin had stood there trying to comfort Harry Potter about his encounter with the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express. Draco wished his heart would explode. His lungs felt as if they were about to cave in, burning and yearning for more space as they were. The ache in his ribs was throbbing, but instead he hoped it would burst open and damage him beyond repair. He slid and fell as he plunged out of the bridge, slipping on a patch of ice. Draco got up and ran on until he reached a river bank. Seeing the river ghosted in thin smoke as the first rays of sun warmed the air above it, made his courage fail, yet he forced his legs onwards until he was but a few metres away from the water. Sobbing, he remained standing there, just gazing into the violent curves of the deadly cold water, realising he couldn't get himself to do it. He just couldn't. His body seemed to catch up, and he suddenly felt sick from the sudden rush of exercise. Draco threw up. He broke in a cold sweat and a gush of icy cold wind chilled his flesh through the thin clothing. He was beginning to shiver, and fatigue was setting in. The despair in his mind was wearing him out. Draco saw no hope. All had drowned in absolute darkness. All save one detail: In his dream, he had felt no fear. He had been happy. He'd felt good. If only there was such a place to which he could escape for real.


January 4th.
Students returned to Hogwarts after their Christmas break. The old castle was once again filled with the buzz of voices and laughter. It was Saturday at noon, and Draco was already far down in a bottle of Firewhiskey. He sidled away with the bottle in his hand trying to get to grips with the fact that the bathroom seemed to have switched locations for some reason. He came to an abrupt halt as he saw a girl with her nose in a book, and it took him a moment to realise that it was in fact Hermione Granger. Turning to see who it was, she immediately wrinkled her nose as she saw the state he was in.

“Colud...could you phlease show me where the bloody bathroohm is?” Draco slurred, “I'm sure it somehow went and hi -hid itselfh” he added. He slumped against the nearest wall, resting his forehead on his arm. He was beginning to feel sick. Too much alcohol in too little time.

“Why on earth are you drinking at midday? Just because it's the second last day of Christmas Holiday you cannot go all haywire. It's completely forbidden and against all proper decorum. You of all people should know better!” Hermione blurted out before he could say another syllable. The sudden reprimand, which normally would have sounded like hen-cackling to him coming from a Muggle-born and all, hit him right in the gut. At first Hermione thought he was just acting it, making fun of her. But the more she looked at him, the more she realised that Draco Malfoy was actually crying. He smelled strongly of liquor and was as per usual dressed impeccably. But he had something fragile, worn and sad about him which made Hermione pity him. Come to think of it, she'd observed him this way before.

“It's, uhm, you're standing by the entrance” she said, pointing to the door frame he was leaning against. Draco looked at her with a lost expression. He looked so despaired and completely out of character that Hermione hardly knew how to act.

“I'm, I'm sorry for the things I've said” he whimpered. I'm really sorry. I just wanted you to know that before – before I – I...!” he stopped himself, not finding the strength to complete the sentence.

“Maybe you should stop drinking now, Malfoy. You're not yourself. Too much alcohol will make you do things you'd normally not do-”

“-like committing suicide?”

There it was. He glanced at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. Her face was a giant question mark. It felt good to get it off his chest.

“I was going to say 'like jumping out from a window thinking you'll be able to fly without a broomstick', but the outcome is pretty much the same.”

Had he only been able to read her mind, Draco would have learned that Hermione for the first time in her life saw Draco Malfoy as am incredibly handsome and vulnerable man. His despair and the wildness in his grey eyes somehow seemed to enhance his manly features and Hermione caught herself locking gazes with him.

“Maybe, uhm, maybe you should give me the bottle and let me get rid of it?” she said quietly after a moment's silence.

“Yes.” Draco simply replied, glad someone could direct him to do something. He handed her the bottle. Just then – and perfect timing it was – he turned his head slightly to see none other than Ronald Weasley come to a stand still in the corridor just some metres away. Hermione took the bottle.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Weasley said before thinking as usual, “leave her alone!” First day at school had left Ronald somewhat on top of things and he felt rather courageous. He walked over to where Hermione was standing, thinking they'd join in a common front against Malfoy. He didn't see Draco hurriedly wipe away his tears. Feeling awfully nauseous, Draco plunged in through the door to the boy's bathroom, eager to escape Weasley and the uncomfortable situation and to embrace the joys of vomiting and set the stomach straight again. Kneeling there, with his head over the toilet, staring down at his vomit mixed with water, Draco realised that it was in deed Saturday. He thought of Loony Lovegood sleepwalking. How could he have forgotten?! Here he'd been wallowing in self-sympathy for days, making himself completely unfit to help her. Idiot, Malfoy! He mentally hit himself. What a complete git you are! Idiot, idiot! Getting up on shaky legs, he immediately felt better. Think black coffee, think cold shower and fresh air! Surely there had to be a spell somewhere which would sober him up? An antidote? Of course, a potion!

Stumbling out from the bathroom, he saw Hermione walking away with Ron.

“He – Hermione? Miss Granger?” He watched her turn on her heel to watch him expectantly, her guard back in place. “Would you, uhm, would you” Draco said, rubbing his eyes violently, “happen to know a spell or a potion which deals with hangovers?”

“Or general drunkenness?” she added, cocking one eyebrow at him, obviously not approving of his physical state.

“I'd forgotten an important appointment tonight. I-” he began.

“-mind you own business, Malfoy, or else-!” Ron suddenly growled at him.

“Enough Ron” Hermione told him, “try some black coffee.” As Draco sighed, she smirked at him and turned on her heel again. She flicked her hair though and gave him a second glance. She had a frown on her face, as if she'd not forgotten their initial conversation before Ronald had shown up. Oh Ronald Weasley could just bugger off! Draco thought to himself as he found his way back to the Slytherin dorms. A shower, then some proper food, then coffee and a brisk walk outdoors, then an hour or two of sleep and he'd be as good as gold! Draco had a plan, and he smiled his usually sleek smile, finally getting his miserable state of mind on hold for a while.