Before I Come Undone

Chapter 1

You leave me hanging on

Only to catch my breath

I got you and I got nothing left

Don't leave me all alone down here

With myself and all of my fear

-"Sky is Falling", Lifehouse

Looking down on the smoldering ruins of Malfoy Manor, it was hard to imagine how this whole mess began. The man looked peaceful enough, a pale dot on the horizon. Inwardly, however, he was seething. His home, his legacy, had been destroyed. He was angry, even by his own standards, highly restrictive as they were.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he imagined the Manor, as it had been the last time he'd seen it. That was nearly two years ago now. The green marble of the foyer was painfully bright before it slipped back into shadows. For someone who had forcibly, violently removed himself from his childhood, he still remembered the property remarkably well.

His eyes flared fiercely silver for a moment, before settling back down into slate-grey. He would find Voldemort and make him pay.

And then, when he was quite finished, he would kill him.

~Two Years Prior~

Two weeks into the school year and Harry Potter was already wondering how fast June could come. Fall was descending on the Hogwarts castle, but the Potions classroom remained sweltering just as Severus Snape remained stifling.

"Harry..." Hermione nudged him. "Harry, your potion."

He looked down quickly and swore to himself. He'd become so lost in his thoughts that his Protection Potion had faded to a sickly green. He would have to begin again.

He sighed and pushed back from his desk and strode to the other side of the room, where he dumped the ruined potion down the sink. It took him several minutes afterward to find the necessary ingredients and while he did, he glanced toward the Slytherin tables.

So far this year, there had been little confrontation between the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses, though Harry figured they were simply saving energy for a large-scale altercation farther into the year.

He frowned as his eyes flicked over to Malfoy, whose pale head was bent over what was unmistakably a perfect potion. Malfoy had an uncanny gift for the class. He would have been a wonderful asset to the fight against Voldemort, if not for his surname and his allegiance to the Dark Side.

Seventh Year was almost completely devoted to protection. Whether it was protection in the form of charms, potions or counter-curses didn't seem to matter. Life outside of Hogwarts had a recent tendency to be bloody; and the growing power of Voldemort warranted a very real need for education.

When class finally ended, Harry was glad to be rid of the dungeons. His schedule placed it at the end of the day and now he was free to do as he pleased. He considered practicing Quidditch, or having a jaunty little walk in the Forbidden Forest, before finally settling on lolling about by the Lake. He loved the spot, mostly because of its silence and distance from the castle. Other students refrained from visiting its borders because of the Giant Squid. Harry visited there often enough and had yet to encounter the lake monster.

He was only just spreading himself on the ground when he heard the sound of feet stepping through grass. He looked up, expecting to see Hermione or Ron, but was instead affronted with Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, bloody hell," he snapped, upon finding Harry lying in the grass. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged.

"I don't suppose you'd leave. Or die. Your preference."

"First come, first served." He couldn't be bothered to lift his head to see if Malfoy was still standing there.

"Sod off, Potter. I don't play by the rules." Harry smirked, his mouth curling up at the corners. A fair amount of Quidditch games against Slytherin lent solid evidence to Malfoy's word. There was no better a bunch at cheating than the Slytherin House; and no one in the group was better at it than Malfoy.

"Honestly, Malfoy. Would it kill you to allow me to just enjoy myself for once?"

"Probably, yes." He sounded cheerful. "It'd go against the Malfoy nature."

Harry rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. He wasn't going to let Malfoy ruin his day. "Leaving so soon, Potter?" He hated the casual dislike in Malfoy's tone: the soft, subtle undertones of malice and spite.

He brushed the grass off of his knees and began to walk back toward the castle. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard a weary, half-covered sigh.

~~~

Draco Malfoy was used to getting what he wanted. It just happened that what he wanted wasn't always necessarily best. Take now for example. He'd chased everyone out of the Slytherin common room in an attempt to gain peace and quiet to study. Problem was, now it was too quiet. He shifted restlessly in his overstuffed armchair, pulling his Arithmancy notes toward him again. The low firelight left strange, abrasive patterns on the parchment and his eyes ached from trying to compensate in the dim light.

He snapped the book shut and closed his eyes, rubbing them in the tired, careless way that makes people look years older than they actually are. Don't fall asleep, he willed himself. You have far too much work to finish. He had just reached for his Potions assignment when half the Slytherin house flooded into the common room.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "No chance in doing anything now."

He allowed himself to be pulled into conversation, nodding at the appropriate moments and providing small smiles at the necessary intervals. He'd become quite skilled in feigning interest in his dorm-mates lives when, in reality, he couldn't have cared less. Crabbe and Goyle's lives revolved around food; Pansy and Millicent lived on lust and the scent of male hormones. Most others contented themselves with typical Slytherin pastimes: drinking and merciless bullying. Draco Malfoy knew he was unlikely to find an equal in Slytherin. For the first six years of his schooling, he'd rationalized that he was building connections and forming alliances for his future. Now, with his very future looming so near, he wasn't quite sure there'd been any point...

He didn't like the idea that his career had been chosen for him before he was even born. He certainly didn't like acknowledging Fate. He craved power, control and more than one path to follow.

But what he desperately wanted right now was to sleep. Creating half-cooked fantasies when sleep-deprived and stressed would only get him in trouble, or killed. He knew it was pointless to hope for a change, or a chance to control his own destiny. It had been his mother's, then his father's, and would eventually be Voldemort's.

He forced his mind back onto the conversation and searched for a more comfortable position in his chair. He winced at the soreness in his shoulders and arms. As captain of the Quidditch team, he was determined that Slytherin would beat Gryffindor in his last year. The fact that Harry Potter was Gryffindor's captain made his desire for victory stronger. Malfoy had forced his team to start practice earlier in the year; and had implemented a more rigorous and demanding training program. Several of last year's players had been removed and replaced with faster, wiry members of the House. That, and they all had enough sense to know that if they started to lose, they were to resort to physical violence.

"Well," Malfoy said, rising in one fluid motion. "I'm going to bed."

He took his time getting ready for bed, enjoying the luxury of having the space to him. Earlier in the year, he had idly considered owling his father and demanding a private room, but now he wasn't sure how likely that was. He wasn't positive there were any single rooms in the castle, apart from those quarters assigned to teachers.

He crawled under the thick comforter and flicked the velvet hangings shut with a swish of his wand, followed by a quick Silencing Spell. Content that his night would be interruption free, he relaxed his muscles, closed his eyes and faded into unconsciousness.

~~~

Fog was crawling over the hilltops in thick, tangible waves. Tiny pinpoints of moonlight were sparkling on the Lake and outlining its boundaries in hazy scribbles. The combined effect left the Lake a milky color, silver at the edges and deepening to midnight blue in the center.

The castle shimmered faintly as a train of fog drifted by, catching several torch lights that hadn't been extinguished for the night. The whole image had a haunting, ephemeral quality to it and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise.

It was very nearly silent. He could hear himself breathing and nothing more. He rose to his feet and began to walk, slipping down the hillside as he feet scrambled for purchase on the wet grass. He was drawn toward the lake, the way the light danced on its surface. It reflected in his eyes, shimmered on his hair. He was almost to the shore when something suddenly emerged from the shadows and blocked his path.

It was his father, but somehow he was finding it hard to accept that it actually was. He looked younger and there was a foreign emotion on his face: fear. He'd never once seen his father scared; he was always angry, or haughty or far too busy to be bothered. He was never scared! He felt panic welling in his own chest as his father's mouth moved but no words came out. He was reaching for his son but couldn't seem to get to him.

Just as he was about to go forward to meet his father, the fear disappeared. It was replaced with what he could only identify as loathing. The older man's eyes were coursing over him, his mouth twisting into that unmistakable sneer. He gave his son one last, cold look before turning and striding toward the lake. His son quickly followed, alternating between running and sliding down to the water's edge.

"Father, wait!" he yelled, but the man kept going until the top of his head had disappeared beneath the lake.

He rushed forward and threw himself into the water, momentarily shocked by the frigid temperature. The surface had lost its milky opalescence and was now a whirling black. He searched for his father desperately but the cold was draining him and he could feel his strength leeching away. He faltered once, then twice, before his own head disappeared beneath the turbulent surface.

~~~

He woke with a start, his breath catching in the back of his throat. He was trembling and his pajamas were clinging to him, coated in sweat. He pushed back several strands of silver hair, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. The hangings kept any fresh air from getting in and he hastily pushed them aside. He crossed the room in two strides and threw the window open, before leaning out and throwing his head into the crisp, night air.

Behind him, he could hear his roommates restlessly shifting in bed. He forced himself to calm down as he took another long breath. He was just about to walk back to bed when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Draco?"

"I'm fine, Blaise. Go back to sleep."

"You're pale."

He turned to face the smaller boy. "I'm always pale." He offered him a shaky smile. "Really, go back to bed. We have Quidditch in the morning."

"Were you dreaming again?"

"Something like that." He shrugged off Blaise's hand and shivered. "It's freezing in here."

"You look ill, you know." Even in the dim light, Draco could see the concern on Blaise's face. "You haven't had a full night's sleep in two weeks. You need to see Snape or Pomfrey, or someone..."

"It was a dream Blaise!" Malfoy snapped angrily. "Was it disturbing? Yes. Life-threatening? Hardly. Now go back to bed."

Draco slid back under the covers, leaving the draperies open this time. He heard Blaise return to bed, and heard his light snores, but Malfoy was finding it impossible to sleep. He spent the rest of the night tossing fitfully and staring at the ceiling.

~~~

The last of the light had disappeared behind the cloak of night, and the Gryffindor team was still circling above the Quidditch pitch. Anyone unfamiliar with the nuances of the game would have thought the players were milling about aimlessly, but there was an underlying pattern to the flying. The team's Chasers were playing a pick-up game closest to the pitch, tossing four balls between the three of them and chastizising each other in light tones when any of the four balls touched the grass. The two Beaters were belting foam balls at the Keeper and the team's Seeker was busy following a practice snitch.

Of the seven players in the air, Harry was the most dynamic. He was obviously greatly talented, but he also possessed a subtle ease in the air that made him impossible not to watch. He liked to keep his practices varied and often interchanged steep dives with shallow inclines or acrobatic twists. It wasn't unusual to see him pursue the snitch at a near vertical drop, only to pull out from the dive barely a foot from the ground in a well-timed (and rather dangerous looking) loop. The first time Ron had seen him fly in a game he'd casually wondered to himself if Harry always flew like a suicidal maniac. Six years later, he knew he did.

When it was finally impossible to see in the dark, Harry touched down and the rest of his team followed. They landed around him, forming a loose circle around their leader.

"Right then." Harry said. "We're done for the night. Good job everyone." He gave them a quick smile and turned on his heel. "Oh, and seventh years call showers first."

He chuckled to himself as he heard the younger students' groans. The Quidditch showers had a notorious habit of rapidly running out of hot water. He chatted idly with Ron and Seamus as they walked to the locker rooms, trading Potions battle-stories and listening to Seamus rant about his football team's dismal performance last weekend.

It hit him in the showers, while he was washing soap out of his eyes, that he was supremely happy. He felt normal, and carefree, and loved. He didn't have to worry over Voldemort, he could simply concern himself with passing his Transfiguration test at the end of the week.

In his contented little world, he never realized he was sitting in the eye of the storm.