Shatter Like Glass

* * *

He was trying to hide.

He didn’t want to be surrounded by the talk and laughter of the other students, didn’t want to endure the nonsensical, dull-witted remarks of his cronies and pretend to be amused, didn’t want to talk and snicker with the others and pretend that everything was normal, that everything was all right.He just wanted to be alone. Completely by himself, without anyone to intrude on him and pry at him, trying to get inside his head with sharp, cruel hooks and knives.All he wanted was to be able to retreat into himself, into his head without any nerve-jarring interruptions. Without any questions.

But the Hogwarts Express wasn’t exactly the ideal place for any kind of privacy. Not with everyone running through the corridor on the way from compartment to compartment to visit friends or face off with enemies, laughing and joking or screaming and shouting, setting off Filibuster’s Fireworks and playing Exploding Snap, and generally causing as much havoc as possible in a closed environment. Draco shoved his way through the boisterous crowd with his head bowed and his face hidden, struggling to the back of the train where there might just be an empty compartment for him to curl up in, away from most of the chaos of the main corridor, someplace quiet, someplace peaceful...

He continued to fight through the swarms of students, getting pushed, shoved, knocked down.But he didn’t really care. He didn’t feel like starting the petty quarrels he normally would have been provoked into at being treated so ungently; it just didn’t seem to matter right now.He just wanted to get away, be alone, all by himself...his head was pounding, he felt sick, his claustrophobia rising in an all-consuming tide within him. He couldn’t help it; he let out a tiny whimper as everything seemed to swirl into a confusing mix of color before his eyes, spinning faster and faster and then he was falling, falling into the deep, fathomless pit opening under his feet, his stomach lurching wildly...

He stumbled into the empty compartment and shut the door, leaning his forehead against the glass and taking deep, steadying breaths. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, plastering his hair to his clammy skin and his heart was hammering at an alarming rate, beating furiously against his ribcage. He staggered into one of the seats and closed his eyes, fighting the nausea racking through his body. He almost always felt like this now, like he had no control over his body anymore and that Lucius’s cold fingers were still on him even when he was miles away, as if distance presented no obstacle to him.

He buried his face in his arms, shuddering violently. No. Don’t think of that. Not now.

Draco lifted his head, pale cheeks streaked with tears, and stared out at the bleak countryside sailing by. It was raining, not a thunderstorm or mere light drizzle but one of those long, oppressive rains that go on for days on end and paint everything gray, sucking the cheerfulness and life out of the world. That was his world, bereft of any color or joy. Those trees, standing there with their bare branches and drooping limbs, were him. Fading from the glory of their summers into the feebleness of winter, weak and ugly.

Except that the trees still had a spring. And he had none.

Once he was dead, he was dead. And that was the end of it.

The end.

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and let his eyes go blank and unfocused, trying to will himself into a state of mindless oblivion where he wouldn’t be bothered by his thoughts. It was a trick he’d learned when he was very small. Whenever his father would beat him to a state of near-unconsciousness and lock him in the cold and darkness all alone, he would let his mind go blank, drift off into elsewhere, free of the throbbing pain permeating his body. It had taken awhile to master the skill of keeping his head totally empty, free of any stray thoughts that have a tendency to pop up just when you don’t want them to, but he had been persistent and it had paid off. It wasn’t exactly restful and it certainly wasn’t joyful, but it was an escape. The only escape he had ever had.

Slowly, one thought at a time, his mind emptied like a sieve draining of water until he was floating in a sea of nothingness, away from all sight, all sound, all touch...here there was nothing but darkness, a darkness so deep that it muffled everything else; all sensations were absorbed into that thick black cloak of inky velvet and rendered powerless. Draco gave himself up to it, dissolving away like the smallest of raindrops as it enters the ocean. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing at all; it didn’t concern him...

He floated there for what felt like forever, dead to the world and everything in it.

But his obliviousness didn’t last.

Deep within the blackness around him they emerged, those sinister violet eyes that had been haunting him ever since that agonizing night in the Malfoy dungeons, stalking his dreams and making his waking hours a sort of nerve wracking torment. They leered at him tauntingly from the blackness like two miniature suns; then moved in close, closer until Draco was aware of nothing but their unearthly light, engulfing him, eradicating him. He could feel his body twitching and struggling, gasping in protest but it was no good; he was trapped and couldn’t break free, sinking into those eyes as they pulled him into themselves. From some unguessable distance he could feel his hand lifting in one last hopeless attempt at resistance - then he was surrounded in burning violet, its brilliant rays searing his skin as he was plunged into violent agony, an agony more intense than even the Cruciatus Curse. It burned, it froze, it tore at him with sharp, venomous teeth which dripped their poison into his veins; he was dying, every nerve in his body short-circuiting from the pain; there was no way he could survive - he could hear screaming -

“Draco!”

Someone was shaking him, shaking him so vehemently that his teeth were clacking together with enough force to send little rivers of pain through his jaw, in addition to that his neck felt as if it was about to snap. He wanted whoever was doing it to stop; it hurt. He opened his mouth to give the person a telling off but all he was capable of was a tiny, pathetic whimper - nevertheless, it had the desired effect. The shaking stopped and he was able to crack his eyes open.

Blaise Zabini was looking down at him, something like concern showing in his dark eyes. He reached down and pulled Draco to his feet, steadying him as he lurched unsteadily, almost falling.

“We’re almost at Hogwarts,” explained Blaise quickly, “and none of us had any idea of where you’d got to and, seeing as Crabbe and Goyle are too thick to do anything but stand in the corridor and bellow your name, I decided to look instead.” He grabbed Draco’s elbow and steered him out into the corridor, turning to look at him with a look that was half puzzlement, half fear.

“What was going on in there?”

Draco let his eyes slide away from Blaise’s, his emotional barriers sliding into place. “Nothing, really - I just fell asleep and had a nightmare, that’s all.” He let himself become very interested in a large bluebell colored bubble that came drifting toward them, no doubt courtesy of some student’s judicious use of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and tried to ignore the rather pronounced silence between himself and Blaise. The other boy stared at him for a long moment before turning away, going back down the corridor in the direction of the other Slytherins without a word. Draco hesitated; then followed at a slower pace.

He gave suitably vague replies to his house mates’ inquiries about where he’d been - they were, after all, Slytherins and wouldn’t be concerned enough to do any real prying. No, they just accepted his explanation that he’d gone off to look for someone and had been overcome with weariness (come now, he’d had to get up very early in order to catch the train) without question and had promptly slipped back into their own concerns. All except Blaise, whose eyes remained fixed on Draco for the remainder of the journey with a burning curiosity - unlike the others, he’d seen Draco writhing and heard his screams. Draco steadfastly refused to make eye contact.

It was a relief to get off at Hogsmeade Station. He let himself get caught up in the swirl of disembarking students and became just another anonymous face in the crowd trying to get into one of the horseless carriages waiting to take them to Hogwarts. He’d become separated from the Slytherin crowd - not that he wanted to be riding with any of them anyway - and hopped quickly into a carriage behind a boy he didn’t think he knew, pulling the door shut behind him.

And realized almost immediately what he had done.

As he turned away from the door to face his companions he saw the shocked, angry faces of Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter staring back at him.

Draco looked back at them silently, feeling a trickle of cold apprehension running through his veins at the sight of the three stony visages turned to him. It was three to one; if they chose to attack now there was precious little he could do about it - he put a hand on the door handle, intending to escape into some less dangerous carriage, but at that moment they started to move forward with a slight lurch. So much for that.

Draco shrank nervously back in his seat, trying desperately to remember any counter curses that might be of use. He plunged his hand nervously into his robes, fumbling around for his wand while muttering a quick protection incantation under his breath, when he heard Harry’s voice speaking, uncharacteristically loud in the strained silence.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy - if you don’t attack us we’ll just ignore you.”

There was no trace of warmth or comfort in that voice but Draco still felt strangely reassured. He chanced a look at Harry’s face; he was still looking at him with that hard, closed expression, but his eyes - his eyes showed something else. They were looking at Draco in a rather unexpected way, as if they were somehow analyzing him and finding their discoveries to be quite...interesting. There was a surprising lack of malice and contempt in those jade depths, just that almost unnerving quiet, measuring contemplation. Draco, feeling a sudden, deep shudder of unease, looked abruptly away, directing his attention back at the floor. But try as he might to keep himself focused only on the rocking and jolting sensations of the carriage traveling over the uneven terrain, he could still feel the weight of Harry’s gaze upon, like something burning into his flesh. Ripping him open to reveal his own deepest heart, expose his hopes and fears. Leaving him vulnerable. All in all he felt a tiny thrill of relief when they pulled to a stop and he could get away - although as he met Harry’s eyes one last time something deep inside him reached out to the other boy, wanted to stay with him...Draco resolutely tore himself away and wended his way into Great Hall.

He threw himself onto one of the benches at the Slytherin table, keeping his head down and ignoring the sidelong glances everyone was shooting at him, refusing to hear the whispered comments. It hadn’t taken Blaise long to tell them what he’d seen on the train; no doubt they were all waiting for him to go into another seizure right there in the Hall. He fixed his attention firmly on his plate and didn’t even look up when the first-years filed in, followed by Professor McGonagall bearing the Sorting Hat.

He never paid attention to the Sorting in great detail and this year was no exception; he listened to the traditional song with only half an ear and made sure to clap whenever he heard “Slytherin!” being shouted out and even that was more out of habit than anything else. That was what life was, a habit. Something he went through automatically without really thinking about it, lest he fall prey to the monsters that were his constant companions in its twists and turns, waiting for him to stumble so that they could rip him to shreds and devour him.

Monsters...

He was a monster. Something ugly and twisted, capable only of hurting and killing, of spreading misery and decay in its eternal quest to pervert and defile every trace of human joy and kindness that it encountered. Something created with the sole purpose of being heartless and cruel. Feeling only hatred and fear. And unable to change, unable to ever redeem itself.

Damned to follow the left-hand path until he’s finally killed, killed by something so good, something so pure that it can conquer even the darkest of evils, can bear the touch of his mortal enemy and survive...

And even as that thought ran through his head his eyes fell onto Harry Potter.

Harry was good; Harry was pure; Harry had come face-to-face with the Dark Lord himself numerous times and survived each and every encounter. Harry had something inside him that could be touched by the deepest, darkest evil and still come out untainted - he was light, the undefinable essence of goodness, radiant and blinding to all the foul creatures who stalked the earth seeking to inflict pain and suffering...Harry was going to kill him.

It seemed so obvious, suddenly.

They were enemies, pure and simple, had been enemies ever since that first trip on the Hogwarts Express when he had offered Harry his...friendship? alliance? and been rebuked in no uncertain terms, leaving a wound in his pride that would not heal. Just festered, growing foul and rotten. Poisoning him. And he’d hated Harry from that day forward, hated him with a passionate fervor surpassed only by the hatred he held for his father - or Harry’s hatred of him. Harry was his nemesis, his doom, the embodiment of everything that he, Draco, was not. Yes, Harry would kill him, as he was meant to. It was fate.

But that look in his eyes...

What had it meant? Was Harry just analyzing him for his weaknesses, any fatal flaws that would allow him to make a quick, brutal kill, or had there been something else...

He was snapped out of his reverie rather abruptly by something being slammed down in front of him with a loud, decisive bang. He blinked, startled, then looked down to see that his formerly empty plate now contained a hefty spoonful of Yorkshire pudding splattered all over its golden surface, its faint scent drifting idly up into his nostrils. Directly across from him a seventh-year he didn’t know was smirking at him, her eyes cold and mocking as they took in his pale, troubled countenance.

“Wouldn’t want you to pass out on us, Malfoy,” she hissed before returning to her own meal, her comrades sniggering at him from behind their hands.

Draco dropped his eyes and stabbed at his food, forcing it down his throat even though it was making him feel nauseous. Bite, chew, swallow...over and over, a monotonous routine, a facade of normality; he kept himself focused on the task at hand so that he wouldn’t have to notice anything else. Just eat and breathe. Eat and breathe.

After an interminable amount of time the plates were finally cleared, students rising from the long house tables to go up to their dormitories and bed. Draco had never been so relieved to see the end of a feast before; he felt strangely disconnected from everyone else, like he was on a different level, isolated and alone. The fact that the others were still studying him out of the corners of their eyes and then turning to whisper among themselves wasn’t helping, either. As he moved out into the entrance way he noticed Blaise threading his way toward him and quickly looked away, not wanting to deal with his questions, pushing his way past a clump of first-years so that he was safely caught in the press of bodies. He let himself be swirled down to the dark, cold Slytherin common room with relief - here he was safe.

Hogwarts had always felt safe to him, with Lucius far away in Malfoy Manor and the other Death Eaters unlikely to attack as long as Dumbledore was Headmaster. It just wasn’t probable that anyone would be raping and torturing him here, surrounded as he was by hundreds of other students and fully trained witches and wizards as opposed to the Manor where he was at anyone’s mercy...it didn’t feel like home, exactly, he didn’t suppose he really had a home, but at least the school could offer him some protection from the ever-present darkness that dominated every other aspect of his existence. Put him anywhere else and he was completely helpless, totally vulnerable to whatever savage beasts wanted to taste his flesh.

Draco shuddered slightly at that thought and whisked the heavy, dark green curtains of his four-poster shut, enclosing him in a dark cave where all of the senses were muffled, swallowed up in the heavy folds of silk and velvet that surrounded him. He could vaguely hear the motions of his dorm-mates from beyond the cloth barrier, could sense their curiosity at his abrupt withdrawal, feel their eyes trying to penetrate the shrouding material - let them wonder. They didn't need to know anything, anything at all. And he had absolutely no intention of disclosing his secrets.

But even in the safe, isolated darkness around him, sleep was not forthcoming. He lay awake long after the others had fallen asleep; listening to their slow, rhythmic breathing and trying desperately not to let himself be lulled by the sound. He didn’t want to sleep, even though his eyes were burning with tiredness. If he slept, the nightmares would come back; the violet-eyed apparition stalking through his mind, evil and cruel. He didn’t want to see that unearthly gaze again. Ever. And if he let himself go, fall into the dream-world, the beast would surely be on him in an instant.

But he couldn’t help it; his eyes were so heavy.

And before he could stop it his eyes had drooped shut and he was lost, lost in the world of his nightmares with no reprieve in sight.