Hi! How's life treating you my angsty friends? Okay so I will explain a little about why there is a lot of rape in this story. As mentioned in the blurb Draco is made vulnerable by the memories coming back and therefore people take advantage of that. And if others don't know the whole story they might do the same thing, unaware that they're raping them. I hope that cleared some stuff up for you. I just thought I'd clarify that, and you don't need to worry, it doesn't happen again. I think. Enjoy!

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There were a total of one week and two days until Draco would be going home for Christmas holidays, and he was not looking forward to it. So, in the days preparing for Hell, he decided to read a little with his new friend Luna. He and Violet stopped hanging out after he stopped showing up to meal times. But that didn't mean the blonde Slytherin wasn't eating at all.

Luna sat with him in the library during meal times and always brought more than enough food for the both of them. He only ever ate enough for her to believe he was eating - and he was, he was just forcing himself to vomit it back up later. So, she never cottoned on to the fact he was losing weight rather than gaining weight. His growth had been stunted from the age of twelve, which lead him to be just taller than the seventh year and way skinnier than her.

His new stalker, Harry Potter never seemed to grasp that Draco was slipping out of class, claiming he needed the bathroom, and purging or cutting then. But he did notice that Anthony Goldstein was keeping his distance while making sure Draco didn't say anything. Anthony however, never noticed Harry keeping an eye on him so that he'd stay away from Draco. Honestly, it was getting a bit creepy in Draco's eyes.

So, on a snowy and cold Thursday, after he finished all of his classes - even if he did little work and paid zero attention - Draco found himself in a corridor windowsill with a cup of tea. Irish breakfast if you wanted to be more specific. The tea warmed his insides when he took a sip and it was the closest thing to food that would stay in his stomach by choice. And he didn't hate that the corridor he was sat in was empty.

He had his book bag at his side and he debated taking his homework out, but he really couldn't be bothered and he couldn't think in the cold weather. Or he was making excuses to put it off. Either way, he didn't end up doing the homework there. So instead of doing something productive, he looked out of the window and watched the clouds from his little alcove. It was peaceful there. In that moment, it was like he didn't exist. And he preferred that to the other kids hassling him.

He drained the last of his tea before setting it down and - once again - debating whether or not he should do his homework. It was due in two days and he hadn't even started it, so most would argue that he should do his homework. But he didn't, because he couldn't be bothered. So, he sat there with his empty cup, looking at it and zoning out. 

When he snapped back to reality it was because someone took his cup and smashed it one the wall above his head so that the shards rained down in him. He held his arms over his head for cover as a reflex and left his torso vulnerable. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around the blonde's torso before slinging him over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Only, this sack of potatoes had arms and legs and therefore tried to escape.

Although, as much as Draco fought against the person carrying him he didn't talk or shout or scream even. The only sound that left his mouth was a yelp as he was thrown down hard onto a desk in an empty classroom. Before Draco could see them he was flipped onto his stomach and pulled so that all of his two legs were dangling over the side before they leaned over to whisper in the blonde's ear.

"Hi! Death-Eater!" Said a male voice, "How have you been?"

The mysterious male used his left arm to pin Draco down by the base of his neck and his right hand found Draco's knee.

"I'm just going to go out on a limb here and say that you probably killed some people," the voice said, turning Draco's insides to ice the mere thought of ever hurting someone like that, "I'm just curious to know how that felt?"

Draco gulped. He'd never killed anyone, never even identified anyone that Voldemort wanted to kill. Hell, he'd been feeding the prisoners. To think he was capable of killing someone was mental. 

He'd been instructed to kill Dumbledore, but the man was right, he had hoped his plans wouldn't work. He was no assassin. This man had provided him an almost sanctuary whether Draco was going to admit that or not, there was no way he could kill him. Even with his own life hanging in the balance.

"What did it feel like to watch the life leave your victims eyes?"

Terrible, Draco thought, tears burning the back of his eyes. He'd seen people he'd known for years die in that dining room. He'd watched so many people leave, even had front row seats. He'd tried to keep them from dying, saying he couldn't tell, but most of the time they ended up giving themselves away. There were very few people that had actually been let free because Draco had refused to identify them. Maybe two, possibly three.

"Because my Dad was murdered in your house!" 

Draco was ripped off of the table and took a chip of wood with him. He was thrown to the ground and Draco finally saw the face of whoever had taken him. Zacharias Smith. Zacharias droned on about how Draco had watched his father die and did nothing. He punctuated each sentence with a punch or kick, maybe two. Draco ended up coughing some blood up.

He knew it was pointless to fight back. Fighting back had never worked for him. So instead he accepted his fate. And even as Zacharias left, Draco lying on the floor with a bloody mouth, bruised body and cut on his cheek. He felt utterly hopeless. He felt empty. Didn't even have the energy to cry. He was a heaping mess of uselessness. And Draco didn't want to pretend anymore.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when someone said his name. He looked up to see none other than his brand new stalker, Harry Potter. Whenever Draco saw his face before he used to feel some sort of warmth and anger at himself for feeling that way. Now, he was angry at himself for everything that had just happened, angry at Harry for not stepping in to help.

"I take it you saw?" Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah..." Harry said, "Listen -"

"No! You listen to me!" Draco got up and leaned against the table, "Do you know what it's like to be helpless!? To just, leave your body and watch as someone else does whatever the fuck they please with it!?"

"Draco, I'm sor -"

"Don't even start, Potter!"

"I don't understand. Why are you so upset with me?"

"Upset with you? Potter I was helpless. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't speak, I couldn't stop them, I just - let it happen. Submitting to the fact that no one would help me! But guess who saw it. You! You watched as he - as he fucking beat the shit out of me! You watched and you didn't do anything. All I wanted was for by some miracle, someone would care enough about me to help. But, no one ever helps. They always arrive too late, or watch and do nothing. And then they act like nothing ever happened..."

"Draco, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how idiots like you claim to be all noble but when someone really needs help, someone needs saving, you stand back and watch."

"Draco, you're yelling -"

"What!? Worried someone will walk in and you'll be exposed for the fraud you are!?"

"Draco, I understand you're angry -"

"No! You don't understand! I'm not angry I'm just hurt! I don't feel anything, I don't feel sad, I don't feel angry, I don't feel a goddamn thing!"

Draco broke down into tears and started to sob, his knees wobbling underneath him as he felt weaker and weaker. Just as he was about to fall to his knees, Harry tried to comfort the blonde by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. In return, Draco punched him in the face and pushed him out of the way so he could leave. He didn't look back. Not even for one second did he care whether Harry was okay, he just wanted to get out.

His walking sped up until he was basically running back to his dormitory, tears streaming down his face as he went inside his dormitory, slammed the door shut and flopped onto his bed, wrapping the pillow around his head and screaming into it. He screamed until he felt as though he'd never be able to scream again. Draco rolled over and started to sob again, but still feeling nothing.

Am I broken? Why can't I feel anything? 

You know exactly why you can't feel anything. Because you're a monster, and monsters don't deserve happiness.

I don't deserve happiness...

Draco couldn't take it, he needed to feel again. Whether it was pain, anger or joy didn't matter, some form of emotion and he'd be free. Scissors could only get him so far, and he wanted to bleed, wanted to know if blood was the answer to feeling again. He got up and ran to the kitchens as fast as he could. He then searched through the draws until he found what he was looking for. A cooks knife.

He concealed it within his robes before hurrying back to his dorm, hiding in the bathroom and locking the door. He rolled his sleeves up and held his arm above the sink, making sure that he didn't make a massive mess. He pressed the tip of the knife to his forearm, already littered in scratches, before sliding it along. No blood spilt, but that only meant he would have to press harder.

After a few tries, Draco finally managed to cut deep enough for blood to spill and drip into the sink, tainting it with a crimson stain. The red liquid slowly drained into the pipes, leaving the stains behind for Draco to watch before pressing the knife to his wrist once again. 

After a few scratches and scares and cuts; he began to give up, putting the knife down and collapsing to the floor. He was tired of the emptiness inside him. He wanted to feel something, anything, guilt, pain, anger, joy, fear, just some form of emotion. A tear landed on his hand and he realised he was crying, wiping his blotchy face before getting up and looking at himself in the mirror. 

He was disgusted by the thing looking back at him, so weak that the stranger couldn't fight back, so unworthy of life that even his own father hated him, so cruel that no one cared about him. He was utterly disgusted by the stranger looking back at him, but at the same time, he tried to hold onto that. Tried to hold onto the feeling of self-loathing as a form of anger. But he didn't feel angry at the reflection, more so angry at himself for becoming that person.

He picked the knife back up and snuck it back into the kitchen, turning around once it was in its draw to see Ginny Weasley with a confused expression.

"What do you want Weaslette ?" He spat.

"What are you doing with a knife, Malfoy?" The red head enquired, "Murdering innocent people?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business. Now, why don't you and your whole Gryffindor posse, leave me the fuck alone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did Potter send you? Tell him I'm not sorry, and that he can take his hero complex, and go stalk someone else."

"Wait, you think Harry sent me?"

"Did he not?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, tell him anyway."

"I'm not some owl for you to use as a messenger."

"You should try it. People would pay good money. Maybe you might get enough money to afford an actual owl."

"Oh sod off!"

"Since you asked so nicely. Good day Weaslette."

Draco used to feel some sort of anger, guilt, regret and even relief after insulting the Gryffindors, but today he just felt the flicker of said emotions. He didn't know where he was going until he arrived a tapestry on a wall he knew to be concealing the Room of Requirements. He remembered the last time he was there. Crabbe ended up dying and Draco himself almost died. Back then, he had debated letting go, but the human bodies natural instinct is to prevent death. Bit annoying really.

He walked passed it three times, thinking of what he needed before going inside to find a blank room with a table. On that table was a basin of water, some bandages and a small box of razor blades. He needed to know if this was how he would feel again.

He took a blade out of the box, taking a moment to admire the small shiny piece of metal. The blunt end, the sharp end and the small hole that he didn't know the use for. He then pressed the object to his soft and scared flesh before dragging it along, watching the blood pour out of the cut. He may have pressed a little harder than necessary, but he was used to using scissors instead of razors.

After a few more cuts that were definitely deeper than necessary, Draco took a piece of parchment from his bag and wrote down a few names.

Lucius Malfoy

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Albus Dumbledore

Anthony Goldstein

Theodore Nott

Zacharias Smith

After looking at the eight names he made a silent promise, a promise that if the list reached over ten he would kill himself. He didn't want to die, but that didn't mean he wanted to live. What point was there to living if you couldn't even feel? What purpose did his life serve for the great or good? Would anyone even mourn his death? Sure, his mother would probably miss him, but he spent his whole life doing things to make others happy, and he was tired of putting his friends and family before himself.

And to be perfectly honest, he didn't care that his mother would miss him.

-~-

Draco spent the next few weeks not paying attention, doodling in his books instead of writing notes and almost failing every class. Did he really care though? No. Not really. It wasn't until Professor Flitwick started a lesson on memory charms and how they work. This, this is what Draco needed to know. 

Random memories he didn't remember were constantly appearing. He subconsciously retained some recollection of what happened, and he was surprised to find the memories explained a lot of his fears and anxieties. Stuff like almost being murdered by a werewolf, repeatedly being mere seconds from death before being healed and beaten again. He was honestly surprised at how terrible his childhood really was. But he needed to know why his memories were only coming back now.

"So class, can anyone tell me what a memory charm does?" Flitwick asked.

Students raised their hands but Flitwick chose a student with their hand down, "Miss Pavarti Patil?"

The girl rolled her eyes, "They erase or alter memories."

"Half correct. Uh, Miss Granger?"

"They move memories to the subconscious and replace them with something else," the bushy haired girl explained, "You can't get rid of a memory entirely, and you will always have learnt something or remember an important lesson or the main emotion felt."

"Well done! Five points to Gryffindor!"

Hermione smirked and a few Gryffindors silently high fives under tables. Draco rolled his eyes eyes at the annoying know-it-all. We get it, he thought, you know shit. Big deal. 

"Now," Flitwick started, "we'll be looking at why they may suddenly return for no apparent reason. Anyone have a guess?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air and Draco rolled his eyes at her cheerful attitude.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Draco froze at the title, "Do you have an idea?"

"Uh..." Draco's face felt hot and his palms were slicked with sweat, "Is it because the caster didn't do a very good job?"

A few students chuckled, "No," Flitwick glared, "If the caster is dead, dying or in a very weakened state memories may start to resurface."

Draco's eyes widened as the realisation hit him. His mother was going through something and he was worried about himself. How stupid! He scolded himself, Your mother is getting the shit beaten out of her everyday and you're worried about stupid school boys!

He was pulled from his thoughts when he saw a small tear stain on his page and realised he was crying. He looked up in the hopes that no one noticed before wiping his eyes and pretending to listen in class. He felt watched and small, but he shook his head to tell himself he was imagining things. Truth was, someone was looking at him. Harry Potter couldn't explain his new found fascination in the boy, but he could explain his urge to help. 

Once that class ended, Draco left and ignored everyone before going to the library, trying to not be seen. He didn't want people to look at him. He knew they were all silently judging him. He knew they all hated him. He knew they wanted him dead. But it was what he didn't know that bothered him more. He didn't know what his mother was going through and almost didn't want to.

As per usual; Luna came in after ten minutes with a plate of food and a smile on her face. Draco smiled back and tried not to look at the disgusting food on the plate. The salad saturated in dressing, the rice drowning in cream, the lumpy mashed potatoes, the charcoal covered steak, the thin pudding; all of it. Of course, that's only how it looked in his eyes. 

Luna plonked herself down and the two students chatted for a bit before they had to leave.

-~-

Draco walked through the corridor with his new found friend Luna Lovegood, but that's when it happened. A sudden sharp pain pierced his skull and he couldn't help but hold his head and drop to the ground. Luna stopped and sat next to him, trying to see if he was alright.

"Draco," she whispered, "Draco are you okay? what's happening?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but instead coughed up blood and screamed in pain. What's going on? He asked himself, Why does it hurt so much? Am I dying? Then the lightbulb in his brain turned on and it clicked. They had learnt about this in Charms class when Professor Flitwick explained something. And Draco recognised the pain, only this time it was amplified to one thousand percent strength.

"Luna..." he coughed while talking, "Luna get me ... get me to ... Hospital wing..."

He began to cough blood again, and screamed as the pain worsened. He knew there was blood leaking from his nose, eyes and ears as well as his mouth. He closed his eyes, holding his head and curling into a ball as Luna tried to calm him down. Then it began. The images of his past swirled through his head as he saw and relived each memory his mother had altered. The worst memories that had left him devoid of emotion slowly returning.

But there was one memory that didn't make any sense to him. One memory that he didn't understand.

A three year old began to scream. That three year old had a name, and that name was Draco Lucius Malfoy. He cried as hot water filled the bathtub his father had placed him in. There was a bang on the door, and the muffled voice of his mother was heard, but Draco couldn't understand what she was saying. Eventually, the water stopped, Draco was pulled from the boiling water and brought down stairs as Narcissa followed yelling his name.

"Lucius what in Merlin's name are you doing!?"

"I'm finding that stupid muggle!"

"No, Lucius, please!"

"Shut up!"

Lucius slapped Narcissa across the face and performed a spell on Draco, the three year old not knowing what it was but catching a glimpse of a man. The man had dark hair, silver-blue eyes and pale skin. He walked towards a home, he saw the address. And before he knew it, the man materialised in front of them, a shocked expression on his face.

"Um, hello...?" He trailed off, "Do I, know you?"

"Well it appears you know at least one of us!" Lucius yelled.

Then it happened. Lucius took a knife and stabbed the man in his stomach, the man vanishing immediately after when Lucius returned him to where he had been.

That memory made no sense. The man was someone Draco had never met, and yet Lucius wanted him dead for no apparent reason.

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So, who do you think the man was? I've also started a Scorpius Malfoy Fanfic about his struggles and there's a love heptagon? Idk, but I would appreciate it if you checked it out. It's called 'Just One Reason'. Please vote, comment and suggest ideas. Thank you!

      - Turtlefreakakw2 <3