Silver and Gold [D.M.]

Draco fucking Malfoy - working out until he can´t move a single muscle anymore.

The thought is as equally amusing as it is sad. But the training helps me keep my mind far away from the misery that has been unfolding outside of these four walls. The silence in the empty halls of the manor threatens to consume me every time I try to rest.

My muscles are screaming.

If I keep going long enough the pain would feel as though I’m being splinched from apparition. It’s been a long time since I felt my body twist away nauseatingly into the darkness from this magical way of transportation. I remember the last time I apparated vividly. I was almost torn apart as my fingers dug into my mother’s arm, clinging on for dear life. The day we disappeared from the grounds of Hogwarts, like cowards.

Hogwarts. I continue pulling myself up with a loud grunt. I’ve been pushing myself for hours, my body almost numb at this point, but it´s not enough.

The burning sensation spreading through my muscles is addicting. Every time I successfully pull my bodyweight over the highest bar in the frame of my canopy bed, I feel a little closer to complete and total exhaustion.

My annoying but loyal house-elf Topsy strengthens the frame every night. She stops by to clean up after me as soon as I pass out, a result of too much fire whiskey or bodily exhaustion. Or both.

Before my mind can begin to wander any further, I focus on the loud beats that fill the room with noise as I push the hurricane of memories away. I don’t know the artists name whose voice sings out aggressive words in a haunting rhythm, but with everything I have I try to ensure that his words are louder than my own thoughts.

My stomach twists when I ignore the persistent shaking in my arms while pulling myself up, over and over again. There is still so much anger in me. The more I try to forget, the harder it hits me. I have no proper distraction from the urge to punch something…. Someone.

The tidal wave of frustration crashing over me is louder than the sob that escapes my heaving lungs. Sweat starts dripping down my naked torso, I feel it slowly soaking the hem of my sweatpants.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have to deal with all these suffocating feelings of anger and rage. I deserve to be rotting in a cell like my parents. Like all other Death Eaters. By now they won’t feel anything but emptiness as the Dementors slowly sucked the life out of them. I should be granted the same mercy.

Potter did this to me on purpose. He must have known that he doomed me for an eternity of misery when he told them about my desperate attempt to make this war end. The one moment I showed weakness and he made sure it would haunt me. Oh, how badly I want to fucking knock Saint Potters face in for denying me the finality of a life sentence in Azkaban.

If I’d have known he would tell everyone what I did, I’d take my act of desperation back. Why on earth did I think throwing him his fucking wand would justify any kind of redemption!? Instead of my life being a never-ending nightmare, it has turned into a living hell. So much so that often I wonder what would have happened if the Dark Lord had won the war. If we had won. I’m not sure which outcome is worse.

Either way my future would look different now had I just stayed put instead of aiding Potter.

Just thinking about my own betrayal makes the Dark Mark sting on my forearm. Hurting worse than it ever has before. There is nothing I can do to dull its constant ache.

Fuck, I am not even able to screw a stupid whore to escape the pressure that has been building up for months. One of the few ways I had learned to cope with my past and it’s so far out of reach that I’ve become desperate. My own hands have become useless in my feeble attempts to pleasure myself. Not even the memory of that last Death Eater bitch sucking my dick in our library can make me feel better. I’ve given up on trying months ago.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke that part of me as well.

My left hand slips and I lose my grip on the frame. I can´t ignore the uncontrollable shaking of my limbs anymore. I catch myself before I fall onto my knees by holding onto the bedpost to my right. A gut-wrenching sound fills the air and is louder than the music in my room. It takes me a moment to realize that they are my deep screams of anger. My silent sobs have turned into aggressive coughs before I start ripping at my own hair to make it stop. I feel panic rapidly taking over the shell of my body.

Without being able to grasp a clear thought I start kicking the coffee table close to me. Glass shatters everywhere and an untouched plate of food flies across the room before the table hits the cold stone wall next to the fireplace.

Somewhere in the hall I hear the portraits on the walls gasping. They always judge me. Listen to me and whisper nervously. Truth to be told they drive me crazier than I think I already am, which I didn’t think was possible. But I couldn’t care less. In fact, I fantasize about hurting them. If I was able to dream, I would break their frames, grab them by their throats and strangle them to death until they can’t look at me anymore with insulting disgust in their eyes.

Deep down I know that no one’s blood deserves to be spilled but my own. And to my dismay it barely hurts this time when my fists hit the wall and my knuckles split. They haven’t had healed properly from last night yet. I’m becoming numb to the pain. It isn´t enough anymore to make myself bleed and suffer to shut out the guilt. It sits deep inside of me, making me painfully aware of my role in this world that I’m unable to stop punishing myself for it.

But before I continue my hour-long session of self-torture, a loud scream fills the air, ripping me from my daze. The scream warns me that someone has crossed the protective line to our property. My property.

If I thought my heart had been beating fast before, it was nothing compared to now. Instantly it threatens to burst out of my chest without mercy. It doesn’t take long for my elf to appear in front of me. Her eyes big are glossy when she sees me, still shaking. However, she knows better than to comment on it. She’s not allowed to.

“Master Draco, Sir…,” she bows in front of me. Despite me telling her that I don’t need her to do that. She is the only creature left that I consider somewhat bearable to be around. Probably because she never argues with me.

“Miss Parkinson and her daughter are here to see how Master Draco is doing.” Her high-pitched voice is more nervous than usual once she notices my shaking hands and the blood dripping from them.

“Tell them to wait downstairs. I will be right there.” I try to compose myself, although I still feel like my visitors are about to find out how pathetic I really am. They must suspect it, but they never say anything. Once a week Rose and Pansy stop by to ´check in on me´.

I reach both of my hands out to her, revealing the damage done to them. The silent plea for her to use her magic on me reminds me of my early childhood days. She cleaned me up every time I got myself covered in mud from falling off my toy broom in the rose garden. She has been here for me from the beginning, and she is the only one left.

“Of course, Master Draco,” she answers eagerly. For a second, I believe to see a little spark in her eyes, as if she just witnessed a little owl spreading its wings for the first time. It’s quite fascinating how delighted she looks when she can do something for me. She’s a good little house-elf and I trust her with my life.

Her little fingers point towards my hands, but she doesn’t dare to touch me. No one has touched me in months. I can´t stand to be touched. She assesses the wounds quietly before she snaps her fingers to temporarily cast a charm, hiding the blood from the prying eyes of my visitors. It’s embarrassing to be dependent on her elf magic. I’ve gotten rather proficient at wandless magic since my wand was confiscated. I still don’t trust myself enough to do such advanced magic that could be helpful though. I can refill my fire whiskey and I manage to lock and unlock doors, nothing that will be useful upon my return to Hogwarts.

I know that’s why they are here. Rose Parkinson wants to make sure that I will not break my promise to return to school with Pansy and Blaise. She feels sorry for me. And for some reason, she still feels some kind of loyalty towards my mother which is why she promised to keep an eye on me. She’s such a Hufflepuff. I’ll never understand how she ended up marrying and reproducing with a Death Eater. I also wonder if the odd pairing is the reason why Pansy turned out to be such an annoying little bitch. She never stopped forcing her friendship on me, even though I never wanted to be her friend. Most of the time I still can’t stand her and her mood swings.

As my surroundings become clearer, I feel ashamed that the food Topsy prepared is spread across the room. Again. She doesn’t show her disappointment though as she apparates away to welcome the visitors.

My mother would scold me to no end if she saw me like this. But maybe she knows me too well to believe I would be able to cope with all of this alone. That would explain the many letters that have come for me lately. Not that I’ve read them. I place them neatly on my dresser as they come in with the rusty owl whose coat lacks a significant number of feathers.

Dealing with my own emotions is torture enough. Adding my mother’s pain to my pile of burdens seems impossible to endure currently. Her worries would bury me alive.

One more thing on my mind and I will collapse, and I really can’t afford to show any weakness. Not now, when everybody expects me to return to school. Like nothing happened. Like I wasn’t responsible for all the deaths of my own classmates and their families. Even bloody McGonagall seems to find joy in seeing my arse being dragged to Hogwarts again. I can´t wait for her press stunt to fail.

Her letter to all of us was very clear. Reintegration into the wizarding world in a safe environment, with the goal to provide the highest education as each witch and wizard our age deserves. Fake redemption.

I couldn´t care less about her plans. The only reason I am agreeing to this is to find a distraction from my pain. I will not give those blood traitors what they expect from me. I will not run away from this. Not this time.

I grab one of the freshly washed t-shirts that Topsy prepared for me to take to school. While I’m getting dressed, I make a mental note to remind her that I will not be able to wear them. To her my Dark Mark means nothing. But if I can’t even stand to look at it, how am I supposed to deal with the reactions from my classmates once they see it?

No. I would not dare to show my skin to them. I wouldn’t give them one more reason to hex me. Like they don’t already have enough.

When I leave my room for the first time today the dimmed lights in the hall remind me that I haven’t seen daylight in quite some time. I don’t even remember the last time I left the house. Well, I do – but I don’t like to think about the day I had to return home from the trial. Alone.

“Draco, Love. How are you doing?” Rose’s voice echoes through the cold house as I reach the wide stairs leading down to the first floor. It takes me more effort than expected to ignore the brown-haired girl that looks just like her mother. Pansy is standing right next to her. Although I don’t pay any attention to my friend, I’m aware that she is not looking at me either. Her mother forced her to come.

The last time Pansy stopped by to visit we parted ways after an ugly fight. She tried to convince me to leave the manor to move in with her. Just like Blaise did. I’m aware of the distraction they have been getting from each other under her sheets. I don’t need them to be around. I don’t need anyone. They don’t have to carry the same guilt as I do. Nor the same history or destiny.

Rose was the only one in our ranks who never got the Dark Mark. The only parent who never stood trial, never went to Azkaban. Good for her. Good for Pansy.

I don’t need their pity. I don’t want it. All I want is to be left alone so I can stop pretending.

“Rose…,” I nod calmly and glance at Pansy for a second when she does the same, “I must confess I was not expecting to see you before tomorrow.”

My eyes focus again on the tired looking woman who tries so hard to be patient with me. I force a polite smile onto my face, hoping the foolish gesture will make her feel a little better about wasting her time.

“That’s alright my dear, we had to make some changes to our schedule tomorrow.” She reaches for her daughter’s shoulders and pushes her forward. With that she is forcing me to look at my friend closer. Pansy is holding a small velvet colored box. I avoid looking at her face again. No need for me to get angrier than I already am at her for showing up unannounced. She never lets me forget how annoying she is.

“What is that?” I ask a little bit harsher than intended.

“Minerva stopped by today to provide us with individual portkeys. She thinks it is too… early to send you boys and girls through Kings Cross to access the train.”

She meant to say dangerous. I know just how badly people want to see us dead. After all these months they still do not agree with us being spared from Azkaban. Neither do I.

When I reach the end of the stairs, I hesitate for a moment when Pansy walks towards me to hand me the portkey. I take it from her, making sure not to flinch when my fingers brush against hers. My wounded skin begins to burn almost as bad as my Dark Mark. Topsy’s spell is holding up well to hide the aftermath of my outburst from just a few moments ago, but I have no idea how I will deal with this once I’m so far away from her.

---

It´s 6.59AM when I open the box to look at the little pen that will bring me right to the train platform. Rose said it opens up at 7 and closes at 8. A one-hour window that I cannot waste.

The Hogwarts Express doesn’t leave before 9AM but I want to be the first person on the train. Far away from anyone else and in my own compartment. Topsy will take care of my luggage as she always does.

I take one more sip of my fire whiskey the same moment the portkey starts to glow. The pen in my hand almost burns me as it radiates heat, hitting me so quickly it makes my stomach lurch.

It never gets easier.

The platform is mostly empty when my feet hit the ground. I struggle to keep my balance and I don’t know if I should thank the alcohol or the poorly set up portkey for that. I think I’ll blame the new Headmistress.

I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders, making sure the robe over my arm is folded neatly before I dare to look around. The train is rolling in slowly and nobody seems to be paying attention to me.

There are a handful of first years close by, but once I take a step backwards, I’m leaning against a wall that allows me to mostly hide myself.

My heart beats so fast against my chest that my hands form into fists until my fingernails dig into my palms. Once again, my hands are covered under a spell. Nobody would think they were severely damaged from my violent outbursts. I remind myself to get them taken care of in the hospital wing after I arrive. I can deal with the pain, but without my wand they are the only weapon I have to defend myself. Logically I need to be able to rely on them.

My focus is on the train coming to a stop in the station with a loud screech. I hiss in surprise as something touches my leg, making me almost jump sideways. My body stiffens when I discover a pair of golden eyes staring up at me. A black cat with white and orange markings has appeared, purring and rubbing its head against my pants.

When I pretend to kick it in hopes of making it piss off, it sits down on my feet. I start shaking the damn thing off of me when the doors of the train open with a loud noise, reminding me that I need to be quick.

I abandon the creature, ignoring the oddly calming meow from behind me as my strides get more determined. Sometimes it´s easy to lean back onto the arrogance I was brought up with. I try to remind myself that even though I don’t want to interact with any of these stupid students – there is a one hundred percent chance that they are afraid of me and my name. I am still in their world. My pale face reminding them of everything I have brought upon them, or rather, taken from them.

My tunnel vision makes it easier to pass them as I head towards the first compartment. I try my best to ignore their whispering behind me as I glide down the aisle. None of their voices seem to be familiar but I shouldn’t be surprised that people recognize me instantly. My face next to my parents was on the first page of the Daily Prophet more than once this summer.

A couple of other students are just as early as I am, but I ignore their existence while I pass through the train, very careful not to touch anyone in my hurry. As soon as they notice me, they step away without confronting me directly. Good.

I´m almost to the safety of the compartment when something unexpected reaches my ears. Something so warm, that I have to stop and turn around to see where it’s coming from.

A laugh, so bright that it almost changes the temperature around me. I’m pretty sure I just discovered a melody that no one has ever played before. A kind of music that doesn’t exist yet.

My eyes catch a glimpse of long golden hair, before the girl it belongs to disappears into one of the group compartments and the door closes behind her. Then silence hits me like an ice-cold wave that I’m much more familiar with. The numbness I´m so accustomed to creeps right back. Not feeling makes me feel safer than anything else in this world. The burning sensation that the unexpected warmth left behind fades away slowly.

When I finally reach a small compartment, I scamper inside and throw my robe down on one of the dusty old seats. I lock the door and close the black curtains – which immediately change into a dark Slytherin green - to keep unwanted spectators away. I then turn around to look at my hiding place for the remainder of the day.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I groan as I see the cat from the platform curling up onto the black robe I put down seconds ago, “You stupid animal. I don´t want you here, and I definitely don’t want all your disgusting hair on my things.”

He closes his eyes, unimpressed. Sneaky little bastard.

I stand there for a couple of minutes, debating if it would be worth it to open the doors again to throw him out myself. As soon as I hear laughter and more voices outside, I decide that it will be more convenient to ignore him instead of giving my hiding place away.

“Fine. Stay here. But don’t you dare make a sound or I will open the window as soon as we’re moving and throw you out.”

Silence.

A sigh escapes me as I watch him a little longer. The floor starts vibrating, loud and fast footsteps rumbling from outside the door. He just wants to be left alone too. Maybe he’ll enjoy a quiet ride with no conversation as much as me.

I pull my bag closer to my side to get out the bottle of fire whiskey I opened this morning. If I would drink enough now I might get a couple of hours of sleep during this long train ride. I used to love these rides when I was younger. Now, I catch myself hoping for another incident of Dementors storming the train. Only this time I would want them to attack me instead of Potter. Let them suck the soul out of me.

It’s not as though there’s much of one left anyway.