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Deadalive - A Drarry Drama

By Markus Salbreiter

Drama / Other

Chapter 1: My Struggle Part I

Chapter 1: My Struggle

It was christmas eve, and Draco was sitting by himself in the Great Hall, drinking butterbeer, which Dumbledore had ordered from Hogsmeade. There were very few students left at Hogwarts, most of them left for the holidays to be with their families and friends. Draco had no friends, no real friends to be honest. He had Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy, but who was he trying to convince? They weren't his real friends, they were just company he kept to make him feel better about himself. In truth, he was all alone. He had no one for company, no friends nor family. He was trapped in a black void in space and time, drifting from place to place, emptiness spreading throughout his body, a dark entity slowly taking over his body, infecting him like an illness, slowly consuming him from the inside. Loneliness, was what he called it. A dark and haunting place, where he was born into and never left. It was a shadow that always accompanied him. It was his friend in a weird and twisted way. The comfort and nurturing it gave him, it almost felt like family, like home. Loneliness was his companion, his friend, as long as he could remember. It was there for him when he needed it, and it made him feel better and worse about himself.

Alone at Slytherin table, he enjoyed his warm goblet of butterbeer and some freshly baked biscuits sent by his auntie Bella. The biscuits were square shaped and quite hard, quite rustic. Draco dipped them in his butterbeer to soften and richen them with aroma and warm sweetness. He enjoyed the holidays, especially when it came to beverages, food and clothing. It brought a smile to his face, and some of his fondest memories, like spending his youthful years with his auntie, baking biscuits and drinking muggle tea, which she grew herself out back in her petite garden, or sitting on his father's lap, while he read him stories before he went to bed. The smell of sweet caramel mixing with the flavour of the butterbeer was hypnotizing and relaxing at the same time. Memories of his mother buying him the sweetest cupcakes in Diagon Alley when he was just a mere five years old, flashed before his eyes, and he could still taste the different ingeŕedients, even after twelve years.

Good memories were a rare thing for him. He had mostly bad and haunting ones. Ones that would make even make Snape feel an emotion or make Dumbledore wet his pants. Memories that were so terrifying that they still made him cringe and get goosebumps after such a long time. He thought about the time when his father was killing house elves here and there after the Dark Lord fell at the hands of Potter. Blood covered most of the kitchens and servants' halls, staining the cold stone floors, marinating the carpets and the furniture with a dark red liquid. As a youngster, he was all too familiar with bones and blood, actions and their consequences, with life and death. If you ever crossed Lucius Malfoy the wrong way, even just the slightest misstep, he would make sure that you paid for it in blood. The Iron Price, he'd called it. What a weird name? Draco'd always thought. But nowadays he knew what he meant and what the exact consequences were if you did cross him. One wrong move, and everything was for naught. The world as you know it will crumble before your feet and you'll been done. Sipping his butterbeer, a tear rolled down his bloated red cheeks. What did I do to deserve this? I lost everything that was dear to me, and for what? For my pride? For respect? For what? I tried to play with the big dogs and I failed. Miserably. And now look at me, alone and hurting during the most joyous day of the year. Sulking over biscuits and butterbeer, like some homeless drunkard from Hogsmeade. How humiliating. There wasn't much Draco could do at this moment, but sit in the Great Hall, and sulk over his food.

Wind was howling through the hall, a chill crept along his spine and the hairs on his neck stood straight. The sweet aroma of his drink spread through his nostril and into his lungs, igniting a warm feeling around his chest, making him think that he's actually not freezing to death. He reached under the table, massaging his right leg, cramps and stings from the train ride, bothering him. And then the left one, but it was gone, only a stump was left in its place. It didn't hurt as much as he had thought, but he still felt sharp stings like knives from time to time. It was uncomfortable, and sure it was a great loss to him, but what could he have done to prevent it? Kill his father over a mere leg? What kind of a son would he, if he did such a gruesome thing? He would've surely been sent to trial and quite possibly to Azkaban if he had. I lost a leg, but that was a small price to pay for telling him the truth. At least now he knows. Having warm thoughts and relaxing over luncheon, numbed the pain for a short while. It was my leg, he had no right in deciding what to do with it. My leg, and he made the choice to cut it off, even after I made it specifically clear that I wanted to keep it. I've had it for seventeen years, at least give me the freedom to decide if I wanna keep it or not. My choice. That's all I asked of him, and he took that away from me. He took another sip, and a frustrated expressed was now present on his face. Wrinkled forehead and nose, puffy cheeks from the cold, and a huge frown, covered his face.

Now he thinks, he's some kind of a hero, having saved me from certain death. But did he ever consider that maybe I wanted to live having both my legs? Being able to walk, and run, or maybe skate through the halls of Hogwarts? No, he didn't. He gave the order, and now I only have one leg left. This is so typical for him. Him and his bloody hero complex. Always trying to save people, even if they don't need his help or saving. It's fucking annoying sometimes, but also adorable. How he cares for the less fortunate. How he made him see the good in people. To care for them, and cherish what he had and be grateful for the things he was fortunate to have and get. Others weren't so lucky, and he never understood that, until he met him. Grabbing his drink, he finished the last few drops of it and placed the cup back on the table. The biscuits were all gone now as well. He looked over to his right, over his shoulder, and he saw a goofy looking, glasses wearing, dark and messy haired boy, walking towards him. That boy was carrying two cups of presumably fresh butterbeer, and had a giant grin on his face. It looked ridiculous. Draco let out a sigh, and placed his left hand on his amputated leg. Speaking of the devil.

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