Mad World

He never knew it would be so hard to return to school. The stares from his so-called friends, the taunts from his not so much friends, and the outright disdain from the rest of the students. Draco Malfoy knew it would be difficult to fall so far from so high. Once, a leader in the house of Slytherin and now, a student disgraced by his father. The sins of the father are truly revisited on the son.

And yet, the days passed. Draco Malfoy went to class, listened to his schoolmates speculate about the upcoming Quidditch matches and gossip about the latest pairings.

He walked the halls in a quiet state of depression. There was no confusion in his thinking; no, it was in a state of total clarity that he began his mission; the repair of the Vanishing Cabinet.

Draco sighed and sat back in his chair. Slughorn was being especially long-winded today. Potions was usually one of his favorite classes. There was an ebb and flow to potions; one could add an ingredient or change the way the mixture was stirred, raise or lower the heat, or bottle it up or allow the tincture to settle as it was.

If only finding the one thing that kept the cabinet from working would be so easy. He had already planned to miss supper so he could slip away to the Room of Requirement and work on his project.

It wasn’t that he wanted to do this, he had to. His father’s life depended upon it. For the briefest moment he had considered failing and letting the bastard die. It would be so very easy, a turn of the wrong knob, a neglected switch or a door that didn’t fit just so. It would be so very, very easy.

Except there was always the possibility that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might consider venting his rage on his mother, not to mention himself.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Slughorn drawled in that utterly pompous tone that so many students mocked and yet amused so many more. “Would you care to rejoin the class?”

Draco started and sat up straight; his cheeks darkening. “Yes, Professor Slughorn,” he replied quietly amidst the snickers of the other students in the room.

Draco looked around the room, seeing the familiar faces of his classmates, knowing that someday that they would rue this insult. His eyes flickered over the Gryffindor section, noting the malicious glee in which Weasley was enjoying his embarrassment, how Granger turned away, hiding a small grin (because he was a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach) and Potter, turning away uncomfortably in his seat.

“Then do pay attention,” Slughorn said smoothly, returning to the lesson.

How unexpected that Potter would react as he had. But, then again, Potter had felt the barbed slash of many a teacher's tongue a time or two. Slughorn was nothing but a fool.

Toadstools, and mandrake and at least a thousand words on dittany and then the class was over. Draco rose gracefully, and drifted along with the sea of students to his next class. Unfortunately for him, it was one almost filled with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Herbology was a tedious bore, but he could use the time to think. Unconsciously, Draco started to doodle on his parchment. He quickly sketched the Vanishing Cabinet. A list of spells followed. He would have to be very meticulous to repair the cabinet. It wasn’t something a Malfoy was experienced at doing, but he was smart and he had a purpose; save his family.

He rubbed his left forearm.

He looked up, suddenly aware that he had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t know what was going on in the class. He let out a little sigh of relief; the class was busy copying notes from the blackboard.

Draco quickly looked back down and pretended to be studying his class notes; well, his notes about what really interested him. The minutes passed.

“Please read Chapter 15, Magical versus Herbal and be ready for a quiz. Have a good weekend!” Professor Sprout said cheerily.

Draco remained in his seat until most of his classmates had left. He gathered his things, shrunk them, and shoved them in his pocket. He had work to do. A bead of sweat trickled down his face; everything depended upon him.

He rounded the corner of the hall and stopped short. The terrific trio was standing between him and the Room of Requirement. Draco stepped back around the corner. His heart was pounding, his nerves jumping; he couldn’t give them the slightest reason to suspect him of anything. He had to stay… how did the Muggles put it? Out of sight, out of mind?

Potter looked in his direction, and Draco held his breath.

“I’m telling you something isn’t right with him. He hasn’t tried to hex me in a good three weeks,” Harry said, exasperatedly.

“You should be happy the Ferret is leaving you alone, Har,” Ron replied, shifting the books in his arm. “Why not enjoy it?”

“It is really strange though,” Hermione chimed in. “Malfoy has been awfully quiet since school started.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be too? I mean, you know it’s got to be hard for him since his father’s in Azkaban,” Harry said, before shoving his glasses up his nose.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow,” Ron said with a laugh.

Harry frowned, a puzzled look still on his face. “But, still…”

“Ron’s right, Harry. Let it go. We have the weekend ahead of us. Did you want to meet up with us to go over our assignments?”

Ron looked stricken, but smiled weakly when Hermione turned to him.

“Oh. God no,” Harry said, desperately trying not to laugh at Ron’s expression.

Apparently, Ron wasn’t all that excited about studying either. But, love will make a man do strange things.

“Well, if you change your mind, Ron and I are going to be in the library.” Hermione finished.

“Well, right now, I’d like to get something to eat,” Harry said as he started to walk down the hall.

“Come on Hermione,” Ron said, grabbing Hermione’s hand awkwardly. “I can’t study on an empty stomach.”

“Boys,” Hermione sighed, with a roll of her eyes. But she allowed herself to be towed behind.

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He slipped out into the hallway like cat and watched the trio make their way down the hallway. Potter was a suspicious bastard, but at least Draco knew now that he really needed to be vigilant.

Had Potter been watching him since school started? Apparently so. Even though his heart wasn’t in it, Draco decided right then and there to spend a little more time with his fellow Slytherins and make the extra effort to throw a hex Potter’s way every now and then.

Draco sighed and wearily walked to the Room of Requirement. He had to get started. It was going to be a long night.

XXXXX

Three weeks. Three fucking long weeks and it still wasn’t working. Draco tried shutting the cabinet door one more time. Surely this time he had it aligned properly. Surely this time, the canary would be gone. Surely, the damn thing would work.

The door shut and Draco turned the knob and prayed. He rubbed his hand across his face and waited a moment more, before opening the door. The little canary peered out at him and chirped. Draco jerked back as it flew out of the opening and up toward the ceiling of the Room of Requirement.

Draco swore savagely and slammed the cabinet door shut. It was too much to bear, too much for a sixteen year old boy to have to do. He shouldn’t have to spend all his free time working on this damn thing. He shouldn’t have to worry about his father being “punished” or his mother being in danger.

He swiped a trembling hand across his sweaty face. Draco stared at his right hand, trembling from either anger or frustration or just the fact that he was sixteen goddamn years old and he shouldn’t have to do this. He should be out with his friends, laughing, having a drink of smuggled in Firewhiskey, or planning a prank on someone from the other houses.

Draco slowly lowered his hand and fighting the urge to cry. He was so tired and so worried and so stressed out. A Malfoy stressed out? Bah. He was just pissed.

He swiped his hand across his eyes and turned back to the Vanishing Cabinet. With trembling hands, he jerked the tarp back over the cabinet. Even though the Room hid what needed to be hid, there was no point in taking chances. Even if the damn thing still didn’t work.

XXXXX

Slytherin was similar to Gryffindor in that it separated the boys and girls into their own areas; nothing else was the same. Instead of comfy four posters and with four boys to a room; Slytherins roomed one or two to a room. Which was quite conducive to sleep; no randy roommate keeping you awake while wanking; no snoring roommate or some eager beaver studying late (and rare was the Slytherin who would do that when cheating worked just as well).

Tonight, Draco Malfoy was quite happy with Slytherin rooming arrangements. He was tired of thinking and just the mere thought of having to deal with Goyle or Crabbe was just shudder-worthy. Walking through the common room, he pointedly ignored the questioning looks of his housemates. It wasn’t soon enough before he slipped inside his room, pulled the door to and spelled it locked. A simple turn of the bolt wouldn’t do.

He needed to rest and get his thoughts in order. He leaned back wearily against the door he had just shut. Draco had to do this so he could figure out how to repair that blasted Vanishing Cabinet.

Maybe it would come in a dream… and Draco grimaced. As little sleep as he’d been getting lately, that wasn’t bloody well possible either.

Carelessly, Draco shed his clothing and fell into bed in his tee shirt and boxers. His stomach growled mercilessly and he rubbed a hand across it dismissively. As if he could wipe away his body’s needs with a brush of his hand.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Yet, even his dreams didn’t allow him rest. Dream Draco found himself wandering a barren and smoking land, one very unlike the verdant green land surrounding Hogwarts. He looked down to find his robes torn and dirty; his normally immaculate hands, filthy and bruised. Smoke filled the air and Draco coughed, choking on the foul air.

There was no one around him; it seemed that he was the only living being there.

“Any one here?” Draco screamed, the cords of his neck straining. Only the crackling of a pile of burning books answered him. He looked around wildly, praying that someone was there but hiding from him. He would find them. He couldn’t be alone.

“Please! Is there anybody here?” Draco screamed in desperation. Then the thought crossed his mind… he couldn’t be the only one left… could he?

He shook his head and covered his nose with his elbow; the fumes smelled sweet and cloying, almost gagging him. Draco headed toward what looked like a pile of stone that arched in a familiar way. If he had known, he would have been astounded at how something so sturdy could be reduced to so much rubble: the massive doors to Hogwarts.

He stumbled over the uneven ground, finally reaching the huge crumbling blocks of stone. He reached a tentative hand to see if it was real… because this couldn’t be real, could it?

“Young Draco, how good to see you,” a smooth voice said, startling Draco and making him jump.

He looked around quickly, scared and again, still scared of the voice; it was too familiar.

“Poor boy. I was rude to startle you so,” the voice said again and this time a finger trailed down Draco’s back following the boney ridge of his spine.

Draco froze, terrified of the voice, terrified of who it belonged to and what he could do.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” the voice said happily. The hand slithered up his back to rest on his shoulder. Draco could not force himself to turn around; he was frozen in this hot and burning land.

“Can’t you speak, my precious little death eater? You are the one I have to thank for this magnificent present.”

Draco opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes widened at the one person he feared more than any other… his father.

Wild and tangled silver hair formed a macabre halo around Lucius Malfoy’s head. He was as Draco had seen him the last time he had visited Azkaban with his mother. But instead of the wild, half-crazed eyes he had seen, calm grey eyes stared back at him.

“And now son,” the word “son” dripping from Lucius’ mouth like poisoned honey, “I want you to receive your accolades from our Master.”

Draco felt his innards turn to water. In shock he allowed his father to tow him by his arm past the heap of crumbling stone blocks. As they passed the edge Draco felt a ripple of energy pass over his skin and the world changed. He was inside the Great Hall; the sky still charmed to show a beautiful cerulean sky with white, fluffy clouds drifting slowly by. The long wood tables still sat where they had always sat but instead of classmates, they were filled with werewolves, trolls, and Death Eaters.

His father still had him by the arm and he pulled Draco along, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. “He is here, our Lord… our Master. Kneel and offer him your allegiance, Draco!” Lucius crowed.

Draco dropped to his knees, unmindful of the pain it caused him to fall on such boney joints. He kept his head bowed, afraid to look up past the lectern to see the Dark Lord staring back at him. He had seen him before a long time ago, and those blood-red eyes still haunted him.

“Draco, show your respect!” Lucius ordered, poking a gaunt finger into Draco’s back.

Slowly, Draco lifted his eyes to see a body nailed to a cross supported by the lectern. The ragged scarecrow of a body was ripped and torn and its messy hair covered its face. Draco prayed it was only a dummy.

Instead, the head lolled to one side, and Draco found himself staring into the dull green eyes of Harry Potter.

Draco felt himself falling and the world turning dark.

XXXXXXX

Through the suffocating darkness, Draco swam toward the light. It wasn't swimming like in the Black Lake, but like being propelled by an invisible force, shoving him toward freedom from this other world.

He opened his mouth to draw in life-giving air as he opened his eyes and found that he couldn't. He couldn't breathe!

"Shut up damn it! Shut up!" Blaise hissed, one hand firmly pressed over Draco's mouth, the other holding Draco's shoulder to the mattress. Some else was holding his feet still.

Draco's eyes widened almost comically, but this wasn't funny. He couldn't breathe and why was Blaise smothering him? Draco breathed through his nose, fighting the rising panic blossoming in his gut. As his movements quieted, Blaise slowly removed his hand from Draco's lips. "Done are you?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"I don't know... " Draco answered weakly, trying to sit up, but now seeing Crabbe holding his feet down.

"You can let go now, idiot!" Blaise said, slapping Crabbe on the shoulder. Crabbe looked stricken, but released Draco.

The blond sat up on the bed, and rubbed his eyes and face with the heels of his hands. "What the fuck is going on?"

"You were having a bloody screaming nightmare. You damn near woke the whole house screaming like a little girl," Blaise replied, finally letting go of Draco's shoulder. "So, you tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"Scared like a little girl," Crabbe sniggered, his ugly pig eyes squinting in merriment.

Draco glared at him until he looked down and away..

“So, are you going to tell me?” Blaise asked; his foot tapping impatiently. “Unlike this cretin,” he said with a sweep of his hand, “I do need my rest.”

Draco looked at his dark green comforter. His fingers plucked nervously at the binding. He did not want to tell Blaise about his dream.

“It was just a bad dream,” Draco said finally.

“Well, duh. I figured that. Was it You-Know-Who?” Blaise asked.

“No… it was just a stupid dream. It meant nothing.”

“Well, I don’t think so. You were screaming pretty loud… and I’m fairly sure the rest of the house won’t agree that it was just a stupid dream.” Blaise smirked at Draco’s outraged expression. “Your words, not mine.”

“I dreamed I was drowning,” Draco said, running a hand through his sweaty bed hair.

“Better, but it’s still not going to cut it.”

“Potter hexed me after class yesterday. It was a delayed spell and it made me dream that I was drowning.”

“Now, that, they’ll buy.” Blaise said with a tilt of his head toward the other dorm rooms. He made to get up.

“Hey, how did you get in here? I warded the room before I went to bed.” Draco said, grabbing Blaise’s wrist. If only he had remembered to cast a silencing charm as well, he wouldn’t be having this awkward conversation with Blaise. One that was going to leave him in debt to the dark-skinned boy.

“If you had been paying attention in class, you would have remembered that Snape taught us how to circumvent that particular charm. I can teach you a better one if you wish.”

Draco shook his head. He already owed Blaise for his silence tonight. Crabbe wouldn’t talk. He never did. Even if he laughed at Draco for screaming in the privacy of Draco’s room, he didn’t have the balls to do it in public.

The door closed behind the two boys and Draco was left alone. A flickering candle shed the only light in the room. The shadows moved and it seemed as if the darkness reached for him; thin, clawed fingers beckoned to him, seductively begging him to be like them.

It was only shadows, only the way the flame flickered, only his overactive imagination creating something that really wasn’t there. Just like magic, right?

Draco shook his head at his own foolishness and pulled the covers up to his chin. He flicked his wand at the candle and the room darkened. Now the only light was the thin strip that bordered the door. It was enough. Enough to pretend to be alright, enough to show to his housemates that he wasn’t afraid, and enough to keep the darkness that fought to control him at bay.

He closed his eyes and took a long steadying breath. Slowly he let it out, willing himself to sleep. Yet his mind swirled with the images from his dream. Potter, dead and crucified in the Great Hall, his father all but pissing himself with joy because his Master was there, and the blackness that swallowed him as he fell. Strange how the blackness was soothing then and now so very frightening. Maybe Blaise was right… he was acting like a little girl.

He touched himself. He wasn’t a little girl.

Draco snorted and buried his face in his pillow and Morpheus enfolded the boy in his arms.

XXXXX

Again. Potter was doing it again. Staring at him. Watching him with those luminous green eyes. Draco had never really noticed them until now. How they seemed to glow. It was almost eerie. And every time he looked at Potter, he saw the broken scarecrow staring back at him with dead eyes.

Draco sat back in his chair, working the kinks out of his shoulders. Snape was especially tedious today. He’d already read ahead on the chapter and he was ready for the class to be over. The Vanishing Cabinet still needed to be repaired and as much as he would have loved to skip this class, he couldn’t. Snape was the head of his house and unless he was dying, he couldn’t miss his class.

Draco twisted in his chair, looking past Potter but looking at him. He watched Potter, how he chewed his lip, the nervous tap of his quill against his parchment, the way his eyes shifted to Draco and then withdrew as soon as he realized that Draco was studying him right back.

Draco turned around quickly when he heard Snape clearing his throat. Smirking, Draco began to write on his parchment. Snape passed his desk, a disapproving look on his face, but Draco kept his eyes glued to his schoolbook.

“Mr. Potter, is there something more important than paying attention in my class?” Snape drawled, his tone so deliciously smarmy that more than a few students cringed.

Snape circled Potter’s desk like a shark, looking for weakness, waiting to throw out another barb.

“No sir,” Potter replied, ducking his head.

Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. It was almost better than hexing him.

Snape stared at Potter until the boy looked up, defiance written all over his face.

“Two days detention. Report to me after last class Mr. Potter,” Snape snapped and turned away with a swirl of his robes from the stricken boy.

“But, Professor… I have Quidditch practice…” Potter sputtered.

“All the better. After last class, Potter,” Snape replied.

“But, Professor…” Potter tried again.

“Three days, Mr. Potter,” Snape said smoothly, glaring.

Potter snapped his quill in frustration, pressing his lips together tightly.

These were the days that made Draco giddy. How completely unexpected! Without a flick of his wand or a word from his lips, Potter was being punished!

Draco sat back in his chair. Class was so much more interesting now.

Before he knew it, Snape had dismissed class and it was time to join the throngs of students in the halls making their way to their next class. Draco rose and made his way out of the dungeons. He almost felt like skipping his next class so he could work on the Vanishing Cabinet, but it was better to not attract any sort of attention just yet.

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned to see Potter staring at him with those damn green eyes. He quirked his eyebrow at the other boy.

“Listen, I know what you’re up to…” Potter started and then stopped.

“You know nothing, Potter,” Draco snarled, starting to pull his wand from his sleeve.

Potter grabbed his hand, but Draco was so much taller than the other boy that it was easy to shove him against the wall and hold him there. Potter struggled and almost threw Draco off of him, but in the end, Potter was trapped.

“I just want to help you.” Harry whispered, still fighting to throw Draco off of him.

“Leave me alone, Gryffindork. You’ve done more than enough with sending my father to Azkaban,” Draco hissed, shoving his forearm under Harry’s throat. It wasn’t often that he physically fought, but just because he hadn’t done it often, didn’t mean that he couldn’t.

“Malfoy?” Harry whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Draco released Harry, dropping his limp body to the floor. Draco looked around before squatting down and checking Harry’s pulse. It beat strongly against his fingers. Good, not dead. He didn’t need the grief.

Without a word, Draco rose to his feet and then realized that he was surrounded by a silent crowd of goggling students. He glared at them until the ones nearest to him shrank back.

Then he smiled, a beautiful, perfect smile that gentled his face and made him seem almost harmless. “He grabbed me… you saw him. I didn’t hurt him as you can plainly see.”

The students were nodding. Some were Slytherin, some were Ravenclaw and Draco was pretty sure that the three on the left were Hufflepuffs.

“Potter will wake up in a few minutes and the worst that’s happened is that he’s going to be late to class.”

Potter stirred, turning to his side and reaching for his neck.

“I don’t know about you, but I have class,” Draco said loudly before pushing his way through the gaggle of people surrounding them.

Today was just getting better and better.

XXXXX

Draco swore, thrusting his finger in his mouth. Not necessarily hygienic, but he had just pinched the shit out of it. He was starting to wonder if the cabinet could be fixed; if he had been set up to fail as a way of punishing his father.

He slammed the door shut with a resounding bang. It echoed in the cluttered room, reminding him how alone he was in this venture. There wasn’t anyone he trusted enough to even ask for the smallest shred of help. His father was rotting in Azkaban and his mother was mourning him as if he were dead. Draco hated to see his mother cry.

Draco sank down until he was sitting with his knees propped up before him. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, futilely trying to right the sweaty mess.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, he shouldn’t have to be doing this all alone. And yet… he was.

Draco slammed his fist against the cabinet’s side in frustration.

“Why? Why me?” he cried out, the tears starting to stream down his face. “Please… please….” he sobbed and then he stopped, startled. It was if the room was absorbing his cries. It was eerily quiet with only the occasional tiny chirp from the canary sitting in the rafters of the room.

He wiped his snotty nose with the sleeve of his robe, dragging it across his face. Why do this any more? Why waste his time to fix this damn cabinet? There was only one answer; not to find favor with the Dark Lord, nor his father, but to save his mother any more misery.

Draco slid down to the floor and wiped his face one more time. His eyes hurt and his nose was a little stuffed up, but he was alright. He had to center himself and find the thread of cold determination that was starting to unravel within him.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and without wanting to, fell asleep.

Dream Draco was climbing the tower, to Dumbledore’s astronomy tower. It wasn’t like the one the students used, but a section of a tower opened to the elements. A massive telescope took up most of the room, but there were smaller ones stationed near the open ledge. It made no sense that this room was so open. Why… a person could fall out!

Yet, Draco continued to climb, his feet making a thudding hollow sound on the staircase as he climbed. Finally, he reached the room and turned to the open sky. It was magnificent; a clear view of the grounds of Hogwarts, the Black Lake sparkling in the bright sunlight; the soft scent of pine and rowan drifting along on the breeze. In this moment, there was no darkness, no frustration, no fear, but only a gentle peace that made Draco want to stay in this strange room. For once, he felt whole, felt as if his family would survive, that he, Draco Malfoy, would be something more than what he had been forced to be. It felt wonderful, like a drug had been poured into his veins and made every worry, every care, every fucking hurt and disappointment in his life disappear.

Draco sat on the ledge, his feet dangling over the side. He was safe here, safe as he ever had been and it was a glorious feeling.

Until the stone started to crumble. Until his perch disintegrated beneath him. Until he began to fall, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, speeding toward the green grassy ground rising up to meet him. He waited for the moment before his body crashed into the earth, so that he would wake up. This was the way it happened in dreams, right? But, there was no crash, no painful smashing of flesh and bone against the rocky ground.

Draco fell through the grass, his body passing through it as if he was nothing but smoke. The loamy soil enfolded him, caressing his body as he fell deeper and deeper. There was nothing to stop him, nothing in his way to slow his progress; nothing there at all. The earth parted before him, allowing him an unrestricted path downward.

But, like all things, this fall from the world would end. Draco felt himself slowing, drifting down as light as a feather before alighting on a bed of soft moss. This was absurd; how could there be moss this far down? Yet it was absurd that he was still alive too.

Draco looked up at the path he had traveled expecting to see a faint pin prick of light but there was nothing but an ebony murk, a blackness he had never experienced even on the darkest, most starless night.

Yet, he could see quite clearly, or maybe it was he could feel his surroundings. His senses weren’t restricted to the five that one always thought they had, but it seemed he had a sixth and possibly a seventh. That his surroundings were an extension of his body, that when he moved, the world around him moved. That the darkness was just like a faint water-like substance around him, rippling away from his body when he moved his hand or his head, but rushing back in like the tide when he stopped.

It was frightening, but not. How could he be afraid when there was nothing around him.

No Dark Lord, no crazed father desiring power and glory only to have it escape him time and time again and most of all, no mother guilting him as only a mother can when they are disappointed with their only son.

He stood there in the darkness, the all engulfing blackness and felt it touch him, caress his hair gently, touch his heart so gently that tears welled up in his eyes. It was almost like being with a lover, one that cared nothing about the world, but only about you.

Softly, quietly, they started; the voices. In a strangely soothing melodic chorus, the voices spoke to him. Not of his failings, but of the strength that a scared, young boy had who would take on an almost impossible task to save his feared father and to ensure the safety of his distant mother. Of the kindness he offered to others before he was twisted into the young man that he now was. Draco opened his mouth to protest; he was not kind; he was self-serving, selfish, sneaky, and four hundred and one other words that proved his unworthiness. Yet, the voices chanted and sang on, lulling him into a relaxed state. It was better than anything he’d ever felt before – a feeling of being loved and cared about.

A tear slipped down Draco’s face and he allowed his body to be swept up into the blackness. It was the most wonderful thing he’d ever felt in his short sixteen years.

Then, he knew, as surely as he knew the face that he saw each morning in the mirror was Draco Malfoy, he knew that he was dead. The worst part was that he doubted that anyone would miss him or even care that he was gone. But, there was no Dark Lord, no crazy, cackling father, no schoolmates who wanted to see him disgraced, a failure, no Potter. The ebony void drew him in and he knew nothing more.

XXXXXX

The grandfather clock chimed again making a total of ten bongs that echoed in the dusty, forgotten Room of Requirement. Next to an old wooden cabinet, a thin young man lay. He stirred and then sat up and brushed a slender hand across his eyes, almost in amazement that he’d awoken up in this dusty, cluttered place.

The young man’s eyes widened, agog when he realized what time it was. Draco Malfoy clambered to his feet, steadying himself on the Vanishing Cabinet. He started toward the door and then remembered, turning back to throw the cover over the Vanishing Cabinet.

“Fuck,” Draco muttered, as he threaded his way through all the clutter and discarded items strewn scattered across his path.

If he was lucky, Snape wouldn’t notice that he’d missed curfew and if he did, perhaps there was the slightest chance that he could convince him that he’d been studying and lost track of time. Draco sighed… just a slight chance.

He looked back; the door to the Room of Requirement was shrinking, vanishing into nothingness until only a blank wall was left. The hall was deserted and Draco moved quickly toward the dungeons.

Everything was going fine until he turned the corner near his Transfigurations class. Potter was standing there in the hall… well his head was bobbing there.

Draco ducked back, his heart racing. He didn’t need this, didn’t need Potter finding him out after curfew, but then again… what could Potter do about it? He was in the same situation. All Potter could do was follow him to the dungeons. There were many paths to the corridor near Transfigurations so there was no way he could know that he’d come from the Room of Requirement.

Carefully, Draco peaked around the corner and saw Potter looking down at a ragged parchment he held and then quickly draping the invisibility cloak over his head and vanishing.

Potter knew he was near but not that Draco had seen him. Draco drew back, straightened and then turned the corner into the almost empty hall. He strode down the hall purposely, knowing that Potter would scramble from his path because he didn’t want to be discovered. He smiled after he passed where he’d last seen Potter standing. Let him follow him to the dungeons, there was nothing he could find out, nothing other than a student returning after curfew to his house.

Down the corridor, Draco walked, listening for sounds of being followed. There! A faint footstep, the barest rustle of fabric, the sound of hushed breathing. Good. Potter was following him.

Down the steps and past the corridor near Magical History and then down the marble steps leading to the dungeons. Potter still followed.

It was almost too easy.

Draco reached the doors of Slytherin, massive doors with S-shaped handles in the form of snakes. Pausing, Draco mimed reaching in his pocket for something, knowing that Potter would draw near. How he knew, he couldn’t say, but Potter had been watching him for weeks and why wouldn’t he want to know what Draco had in his hand?

He heard the faint squeak of a sneaker on the stone floor.

Without warning, Draco turned and flung out his hands, knowing that the cloak was within his grasp and so was Potter.

The silky material almost slipped from his fingers but Draco held on tight and yanked it toward him.

Potter, hair a wild static-y mess, appeared. He snatched for the cloak, but Draco had been too quick and had a firm hold on it, bunched against his chest.

“Give it here!” Potter hissed, his breathing uneven and his hands clenched into fists.

“Why were you following me, Harry?” Draco asked, smirking, bunching the cloak up tighter and taking a step back.

Potter glared, stunned at being called Harry, but then blurting out. “I know you’re up to something Malfoy. Something you shouldn’t be doing. Something that’s connected to Voldemort.”

Draco flinched, but allowed a slow, smarmy smile to spread across his face. “You’re crazy, paranoid. It’s true what the papers say, isn’t it?” He made to turn back to the doors.

A hand stopped him, jerking him back around and into Potter’s wide-eyed stare. Draco gasped, startled at how irrational Potter looked. He reached for his wand.

“No,” Potter whispered, grabbing Draco’s hand and forcing it back against the door with a hollow thump.

“So, mad about me, are you? Faggot,” Draco said with a nervous laugh. He shoved Potter back, dropping the cloak and tripping over it. Potter grabbed him and twisted and they fell heavily to the floor, Potter landing on top of Draco.

Stunned, Draco lay there, feeling Potter’s heart pounding hard against his own chest, his messy hair against his cheek, a hardness pressing against his groin.

Potter, levered himself up, straddling Draco’s thighs, his glasses askew, his shirt scrunched up his chest. A dark trail of hair led downward into his jeans, and Draco jerked his eyes up, meeting Potter’s.

“I can help you,” Potter said, his voice a dark promise.

“No one can help me,” Draco whispered, before he could stop himself.

“Let me,” Harry replied, leaning back in to face Draco.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He could feel Potter moving closer, his hair brushing his face and suddenly, he was afraid.

“You don’t have to do what he tells you,” Harry said and Draco knew exactly who ‘he’ was. “You have a choice, Draco.”

Without a word, Draco rolled, upsetting Harry from his perch, sending him sprawling on the cold, stone floor. He scrambled to his feet, forgetting the cloak, forgetting that Potter was there and darted inside Slytherin.

Draco drew a deep breath and fought to calm himself. He stood there for a moment before pressing his ear to the massive wooden doors. Was Potter still lurking out there?

“Mr. Malfoy,”

Draco fought the urge to swear. He turned. “Yes, Professor Snape,” Draco replied politely.

“You do know that curfew is at 10 PM every night, correct?”

“Yes Sir,” Draco replied looking at his feet.

“Then I presume you have a very good reason for being late?” Professor Snape asked, eyebrow lifted.

“I was studying, sir, and on my way back to the dungeons, I discovered that Harry Potter was following me.”

“I see. Did Potter threaten you in any way?” Snape asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“He didn’t sir, but he was acting strangely or at least as strange as he always acts,” Draco replied.

Snape pursed his lips, thinking. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, he gestured toward the dorm rooms. “Bed.”

Draco didn’t wait for him to say it again, he headed off to his room, not daring to look back.

He slammed the door shut, locking and silencing his room with softly muttered charms.

Draco threw himself on his bed and put his arm over his face. He didn’t want to sleep, he didn’t want to study, and right now, he really didn’t want to be.

XXXXX

The smoke drifted low to the ground as Draco walked through the ruins of Hogwarts. He looked around nervously, and drew his robes tighter around him. It was too quiet, too dark, too unreal to be true, but it had to be for he was here.

A slithering sound came from his right and he turned to catch a glimpse of a greenish-black-scaled snake slipping under a pile of rubble. He quickened his step still staring at where the snake had disappeared and ran smack into a man.

Except it wasn’t a man. No mere man had a flattened, noseless face, nor eyes that glowed as red as hot coals, nor whose long-clawed fingers thrust him away.

“Ma-aster,” Draco stuttered, crab-crawling backwards away from the fearsome Dark Lord.

“Ah… Draco Malfoy, pure blood extraordinaire, savior of the house of Slytherin. Pity, you could not save your father or your mother,” Voldemort drawled. “Why have you not done as you have been ordered?”

“Master,” Draco said quickly, “I have been working on the Cabinet every night after last class. I would work on it non-stop, but if I did that, that old fool Dumbledore would suspect something.”

“Of course, of course,” Voldemort said thoughtfully, tapping a long-nailed finger against this thin, stretched out lips.

Draco waited, afraid to breathe, not daring to utter another word.

“You do realize the importance of your mission, do you not?” Voldemort asked, his tone almost gentle.

Draco nodded, lifting his eyes to meet those of the One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

In one swift movement, Voldemort bent, and grasped Draco’s chin and drew him up, his eyes never leaving the scared boy’s.

“Should you fail, I will personally kill you. Your father is an imbecile, your mother a nattering twit and you are their spawn.” Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. “Why, oh why, am I burdened with incompetents such as these?” he asked.

Draco fought to loosen himself from the dark wizard’s grasp, but he found himself flying arse over teakettle across the smoking ground, crashing to a stop on a withered stump; the wood splintering into little bits beneath his body..

He scrambled to his feet, looking wildly around him for the Dark Lord, but he was alone again.

He was alone in a dark, smoky land. But the words rang in his ears. “I will personally kill you….kill you. …kill you.”

Draco took a step, pulling his robes up over his nose in a vain attempt to not choke on the drifting, bitter smoke. It burnt his eyes and his nose and he began to cough. The landscape seemed barren, not like anywhere he’d ever seen. Was he in Hell?

Without warning, Draco tripped; stumbling over something soft, yet solid. He landed on his hands and knees with a muffled cry.

He turned to sit and face what he stumbled over. It appeared to be a pile of dirty rags wrapped around something. Draco kicked it with his foot was rewarded with a low moan.

“Oh gods” Draco whimpered, afraid of who or what he might find under the dark material.

Slowly, carefully, he reached with a shaking hand and grasped the material and tugged it back.

Dead green eyes, the face streaked with blood and smoke, faced him. The dark hair was burned away in clumps and a pair of broken glasses fell to the ground in a slow free-fall as the face turned to the side.

Draco stared, horrified, to afraid to move or think. This was not real!

He watched as Potter’s lips began to slowly open, pulling back over his broken teeth to reveal a void. It was like watching a train wreck, too terrible to look at and too horrible not to. Potter’s head began to move and Draco scrambled to his feet.

Nagini hurtled out of Potter’s mouth; it’s tongue lashing out toward Draco and he couldn’t help it. He started to scream and scream and scream…

He sat bolt upright in bed, trying to get up, only to find that he was tangled up in his robes He lost his balance and rolled off the side of his bed to land with a thud on the cold, stone floor.

Gasping, he lay there. Not really knowing if he was awake or asleep but most of all, afraid to shut his eyes.

As the coldness from the floor seeped into his body, reason began to return to Draco. He wanted to cry; he wanted to laugh, and there was nothing remotely funny to laugh about. Slowly, some of the dream’s details began to fade, but still, the Dark Lord’s words stayed with him.

He knew they were true. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would kill him if he failed. There was no doubt in his mind. The Dark Lord would take special pleasure in killing him.

Draco rolled over and crawled over to his bed and then climbed up on the mattress. He pulled his robes over his head and took off his shirt and trousers; slipping between the sheets in his boxers and tee shirt. He stared into the gloom and neither sleep or wakeful rest would come.

Four hours later, Draco arose and staggered to the mirror on the wall over his dresser. His skin was a strange shade of gray, his eyes baggy from lack of sleep. He hadn’t slept well for months now and the dreams were starting to take their toll on him. Thank Merlin it was Saturday and there were no classes and Quidditch was over for now.

If he started on the Cabinet now, he could put in a good ten hours on it and then still make detention with McGonagall. What did it matter that he hadn’t turned in a few Transfigurations assignments? It wouldn’t matter at all after the Dark Lord rose to power.

Draco sighed tiredly. Time to rouse Crabbe and Goyle so they could watch out for Potter. He was too close to finishing to be found out.

He reached for the bottle on his dresser, held it up and surveyed the contents. It looked like a cross between lake muck and dragon excrement, but wasn’t that what Polyjuice Potion was supposed to look like?

Besides, Crabbe was going to really enjoy being a girl. Draco smiled for the first time in a long time.

XXXXX

Damn, he was drained. The Cabinet still wouldn’t work, but this time at least something had happened. He’d killed the canary. He’d put it inside the Cabinet and when he’d reopened the door, it was dead. He didn’t feel particularly bad about killing it other than he’d have to find something else to use to test the cabinet.

Crabbe and Goyle had vanished from outside the Room of Requirement. It hadn’t concerned him over much, but hopefully they had led Potter on a wild goose chase. But, he would have words with them later about obeying him.

The door to the Room of Requirement shrank away and vanished and Draco hurried down the hallway. He stumbled over his feet, not realizing how tired he really was. His eyes were gritty and he felt greasy. The restroom was around the corner and he could stop in there and wash his face.

The restroom was like the others in Hogwarts, although it was a bit drearier. Very little light came through the frosted windows. Somewhere off in the corner came the slow drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. Draco turned on the tap and splashed water on his face. A gray and puffy face dripping water stared back him from the mirror. He leaned forward, pressing his face to the age-speckled mirror. The cool surface felt good against his skin. It was something to focus on instead of the Cabinet and the threat that went with it. He heaved a half sob and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing boy? Why are you crying?” asked a somewhat shrill, annoying voice.

Draco swiped at his face, unaware of the tears streaking his cheeks.

“Go away! Girls aren’t allowed in the boy’s loo,” Draco snarled, rounding to face whomever was tormenting him.

“But, this is where I live,” came the voice from somewhere off Draco’s right.

“Show yourself. This isn’t funny!” Draco exclaimed, a little disorientated and confused.

A girl appeared; dressed in an old Hogwart’s uniform. Her hair hung in limp pigtails, her dark eyes appeared very large behind her old-fashioned glasses.

“You’re a ghost,” Draco said.

“Of course I’m a ghost. My name is Myrtle.”

“And you live in the bathroom,” Draco said.

“Actually, I live in the S bend of the toilet,” the ghost replied, picking at a place on her chin.

“Well, go somewhere else. I want to be alone,” Draco ordered.

“But I don’t want to go away. I’m lonely. A boy promised to visit me and he hasn’t and it’s been ever so long.”

Draco leaned back on the sink edge. “So, go find some of the other ghosts around here. Merlin knows there’s plenty of them around here.”

Myrtle floated closer, and Draco watched agog as she reached out a nearly transparent hand toward his face.

It felt like the lightest flick of a gnat on his face.

Myrtle rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. “Why are you crying?” she asked again.

“I’m not, I had something in my eye,” Draco said, scowling. “Besides when does a ghost care about a wizard?”

“I cared about the other boy who used to visit me. He was cute in a funny sort of way and he made me laugh,” Myrtle said, sadly, flipping her pigtail over her shoulder. “I miss him.”

“Well, you should hunt him down because I don’t plan to take his place,” Draco snapped, turning to leave.

Myrtle zoomed around in front of Draco to block the door. “You have a secret that’s eating you up… I can see it in your eyes.” The ghost floated around Draco, cackling at the emotions playing over his face, fear, anger, amazement, and annoyance.

“Shut up!” Draco snarled, reaching for his wand.

“He had a secret too,” Myrtle continued. Her eyes widened when she saw the wand in his hand. “What are you going to do, pretty boy? I’m already dead.”

Draco darted through her, shivering at the chill that ran through him.

“Run away! Don’t you think I know what they call me behind my back! Miserable Moping Moaning Myrtle!” Myrtle screamed from behind Draco.

He ran out into the hallway and headed back toward Slytherin.

Who did she think she was talking to him like that? He huffed as he walked, but the longer he walked the more she realized he was right. Maybe she did know something that might help him. At least she seemed sympathetic to him. That was more than could expect from anyone in his house.

His stomach growled and Draco realized just how long it had been since he’d eaten. But, it was too late to nick something from the kitchens. He went down the staircase and headed left then right and down another set of stairs. He would just have to tough it out until morning. He was lucky enough that no one had caught him out after curfew.

“Mr. Malfoy,”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Draco turned, reluctantly.

“I have been looking for you,” Snape said, an eyebrow arched.

“Sorry, sir. I dozed off and just woke up. I was heading to Slytherin,” Draco said, almost defiantly.

“I am quite aware of your extra-curricular activities,” Snape drawled, “I can help you Draco achieve your plans. You do not have to do this alone,”

Eyes widening, his lip curling, Draco drew back a step, “Why, so you can curry favor with our Master? “You don’t understand, I have to do this,” he cried and then stopped, horrified that he’d said too much.

“I promised your mother, Draco,” Snape said softly. “I won’t let her down.”

“Well, I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help!” Draco snarled, before pushing past Snape.

He ran down the hallway and down the steps to the dormitory. He didn’t care what Snape thought, he didn’t care about points for being cheeky and rude to a teacher, he only wanted to go to bed and not have to think about anything for a few hours.

He opened the door to Slytherin only to have Theodore Nott to point at him. He stepped inside, anxious and defiant.

“There he is, the amazing bouncing weeping ferret,” Nott laughed, garnering snickers and outright laughter from the students in the common room. “Going to keep us all awake tonight Draco? Screaming and crying like a baby?” Nott persisted, standing up.

Draco stood frozen from this sudden unexpected attack from someone he had thought was one of his friends, well, as much of a friend as anyone he had here.

“Draco, dear,” Pansy said softly as she joined him by his side. She pulled a glaring Draco over to his room and shut the door behind them. “You really need to stay up on the latest wards for your room.”

“What?” Draco asked, his anger rising.

“Oh do calm down. You woke half the house last night. I warded your room so the rest of us could get back to sleep,” Pansy replied, concern softening her face.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Can you tell me what’s wrong, Draco? I’ll help you if I can,” the girl said gently as she moved closer and put her arms around Draco’s neck.

Pansy was his on and off-again girlfriend. Apparently, on, right now. He allowed her to kiss him, and allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her lips on his, the way her body rubbed against his, but yet, the image of Potter and his eyes popped into his head, the dark trail of hair on his stomach that led down into his trousers.

“I don’t need any help,” he whispered, as she leaned against him. He could feel her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He didn’t mind holding her, it was comforting.

“Maybe you just need a little stress release, darling,” Pansy murmured, as she knelt in front of him, her hands busy with his robes and zipper.

Her mouth was hot and welcoming as she tongued him. He looked down to see her dark hair shimmering as she moved and he closed his eyes and wondered if Potter’s mouth would feel the same, if his pretty pink lips would be as soft. Draco wondered if he could arrange that before his Master killed Potter. He tangled his fingers in Pansy’s her hair and let his imagination and her lips take him away.

XXXXXX

Draco looked around the barren landscape, the smoking and burnt land almost as familiar as Malfoy Manor now. He’d walked the grounds so many times now that he knew what he might find now. It wasn’t comforting in the least.

He pulled his tattered robes around him and buried his nose in his elbow to shield himself from the bitter, rancid smell that emanated from every pile of rubble and heap of rags that may or may not be his former classmates.

“Draco,” said a wavering voice from behind him.

“Father,” Draco replied, turning to face him. He wasn’t like the man Draco knew to be his father. This man was bent and trembling, old before his time. His hair hung limply around his face like tattered lace around a window. Draco choked back a cry of alarm.

He had gotten used to having his father speak to him every night in a sly, cunning voice; telling him what he needed to do, that serving the Dark Lord was a privilege, something that he should be grateful to do.

This man was broken, beat down, and ruined.

“Draco, you must save yourself,” the former Lucius Malfoy whispered, his voice a shaky and shadow-like thing. “Our master will find you eventually.” And with those words he pointed to his arm where his snake and skull tattoo writhed on his skin. “He will kill you, boy.”

Draco stared in horror as the man he called his father crumbled into dust. The bitter wind began to blow and Draco turned and ran. He ran as far as he could, stumbling over the ruins of Hogwarts, the bodies of his classmates, and the ruined forest. There was no sun, only a diffused light that made everything look half-formed.

His chest heaving, Draco stopped and sank to the ground. He sat back, his hands bracing him and he felt a hand grasp his. He screamed and jerked away, falling back into soot and ashes.

A hand stuck up from the ground, its fingers reaching and grasping at the air. He could only watch, horror-struck, frozen, as the ground seemed to shift, the dirt mounting higher and higher until it was clear that a body was emerging from the ground. It began to crawl toward him, slowly, painfully until it was almost between his legs. The hand that had grasped his now rested on his knee, the fingers light and caressing.

He wanted to get up and run, to find some place where things were normal, but he couldn’t move.

The head of the body lifted and he found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of Harry Potter. Harry’s mouth opened and dirt and muck poured out.

Draco froze in horror. He wanted to turn and run, but he couldn’t move no matter how much he desired to run from this nightmare.

“Draco,” Potter rasped out, his voice normally so annoying now a dead and frightening thing. “I wanted to help you.”

Draco shook his head, eyes affixed on the body rising to kneel in front of him. Dirt-encrusted fingers reached for him, touching his legs, his chest, and then his face. He gasped as a finger traced his cheekbone, leaving a smear as it brushed over the tears he didn’t know were leaking from his eyes.

“It’s not too late,” Potter whispered, his lips pulling back to reveal dark and rotted teeth, “for us.”

Draco made to push the tattered body from him, but Potter’s fingers were on his groin, touching his dick through the material of his trousers. He moaned, when Potter’s fingers squeezed his dick, caressing it much like Pansy had. It felt good.

“I know what you’re doing Draco, please let me help you,” Potter hissed, as he loomed closer.

“Do let him help you Malfoy, unworthy child of your parents.”

Draco screamed as Voldemort’s claws tore into his face, digging and gouging, dragging him away from Potter. He fought, but he was weak and the Dark Lord was strong. Draco finally went limp, allowing his Master to do what he wished with him. He had failed and whatever happened next was his punishment.

Silent tears streamed down his face as his clothes were torn from his body. He struggled to cover himself, but his master flicked his wand and his arms were pulled up until he was spread-eagled on the ground. The wand flicked again and the pain exploded from his balls and up into his body, wicked lightening racing along each nerve, fire burning his brain, and liquid acid eating his heart. Draco opened his mouth and drew in a breath and …

Draco sat up in his bed, trembling, sweat, tears and snot running down his face. He ran a hand over his face, pushing damp hair from his face.

He couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t face his housemates, he couldn’t face his mother or his master. He jumped from his bed and ran to his door, opening it slowly, afraid that Nott and the others would be outside waiting to mock him. But, when he looked outside, there was no one. He stepped into the hallway and went to the Common Room, padding along as silently as a mouse and peered into the room. The dying embers of the fire crackled softly in the grate, the clock on the wall ticked like it had for the past hundred years and the gentle darkness of a House asleep greeted him.

Draco didn’t wait, but scurried to the door and let himself out into the castle. He had to get away from them and there was only one place. The Astronomy Tower. It was the one place in his dreams that he had found happiness and peace. And now he was going to make that peace permanent. He couldn’t stand the dreams and the stress anymore.

He hurried through the halls, running when he dared, praying the whole time that no one would find him out. He started to climb the staircase to the tower, his feet silent on the cold steps. Finally, he stood at the door to the room of his dreams. He pushed at it, fully expecting it to be locked, but it opened to a great star-lit expanse of sky. The open wall with the ledge beckoned him and he hesitated only a second before he walked to it and climbed on top of it.

The night stretched out before him, light and cold mixed together into a beautiful, peaceful world. He wanted to be a part of it and he lifted his arms as if to embrace it. The stones wobbled under his feet, but he didn’t care. He wanted this….he wanted it all to be over.

He shifted, feeling the stones loosen under his feet and his balance shifting. He could have thrown himself back to save himself, but he didn’t. Instead, Draco leaned with the stones and felt himself start to fall, the wind whipping around his ears. It was like all the joys and wonders in his life rolled up into one second of sheer ecstasy.

Then his world was turned upside down and he was lying on the floor with Potter wrapped around him.

Draco growled and started to shove Potter off of him, but he stopped, his eyes drawn by Potter’s emerald eyes.

Potter moved slowly off of him and sat on the ground before gathering Draco in his arms, holding him still.

“I know you’re doing what you have to be doing and…I won’t stop you,” Harry said slowly. He held Draco as one would hold a child who needed comfort. Draco felt his hair being stroked.

He stopped trying to fight Potter, stopped trying to escape and just allowed himself to be; to listen and accept what was given to him..

“I don’t know what Voldemort has you doing, but I have a feeling that it’s not what you want to do.”

Draco shuddered at the sound of Voldemort’s name, but stilled as Harry continued to run his fingers through his hair and hold him close.

“Dumbledore says that everything happens for a reason,” Harry said softly; half to himself.

Draco sat numbly, listening, wondering if he was already dead because this could not be real. His dreams and life were becoming interchangeable and right now, he couldn’t be sure which was which.

“I won’t stop you,” Harry said softly and he tucked Draco’s head under his chin and just sat with him in his arms.

Draco sighed and breathed; the smell of Potter’s skin, the night air, the smell of the distant pine and rowan surrounding the castle.

He didn’t understand Potter’s reasoning, but did it really matter? He allowed Harry to gently touch him, stroking his hair and back, the lightest touch under his chin and along the dove-soft skin under his eyes and along his cheekbones. It was if there was nothing else but this.

A single tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. He closed his eyes.

It seemed like an eternity that the two boys sat there, Harry holding Draco as the night traveled on toward day.

But, as change is eternal, Harry shifted Draco up into his arms and Draco again found himself gazing into Harry’s eyes, watching them shift as they studied Draco, blinking in that odd owl-like way that Potter had when he was thinking.

“Just, be careful,” Harry said, lifting his head and pressing a small, soft kiss to Draco’s forehead. Without another word, the Chosen One rose and left Draco still sitting on the stone floor of the Astronomy Tower.

Another tear slid down Draco’s face as Harry Potter shut the door quietly behind him. He blinked, fighting the well of emotion building in his chest. He wanted to scream and cry and rage and run after Potter, for what he wasn’t sure, but…he knew this was a mad world.

“Fuck you, Potter. Fuck you,” Draco whispered, a sob catching in his throat.