Father Dearest

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Warnings: This story deals with the tragedy of teen suicide and contains various adult themes, as well as graphic images, including self-mutilation and MAJOR ANGST. Please be warned ahead of time. In future chapters, this story will also contain sexual situations, adult language, drug and alcohol abuse, as well violence. I will make sure to list warnings in each chapter. This will be a dark/angsty Draco/Hermione romance.
Author's Note 1: In the Father Dearest universe, only the events through GOF are cannon. This story goes AU after year 4, but Voldemort is still gaining power and followers. Non-compliant with the events of OTTP, HPB, and DH. This is my first D/Hr and dark story, so please be nice.

Note 2: This takes place during the HP gang's 6th year at Hogwarts. Voldemort is back in power and Draco is supposed to join him on his 16th birthday. Both Draco and Hermione are prefects in this story. Also, in this story, Draco's birthday is not June 5th, but December 31st instead.

Enjoy and as always feedback is encouraged!

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Chapter 1: A Drastic Decision

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Draco Malfoy took out a piece of parchment and let out a loud sigh. Luckily, he was the only one in his dormitory right now. As he charmed his "special" quill to write in none other than his own blood, he contemplated his desolate life. To the outside world, it appeared that he had everything, but still, he couldn't help but feel inadequate and desperate. To make matters worse, Draco couldn't get the words out of his head that damn Mudblood had said to him last week. The nerve of that utter cow; still, they were all so true and constantly invaded his mind.

Now, they even flooded through his body like poison. Yes, his blood was filled with poison-- a deadly poison that he could never escape, a poison that would eventually overtake him if he didn't do something to remove it. His time was running out; he needed to remove it desperately, but he wasn't sure what to do. After many hours of long contemplation, he finally decided to go ahead with the plan he had been preparing for the last week. Yes, for the first time ever... Draco Malfoy was finally going to take control of his own life. He was going to be a man, make his own decisions, and follow through on his plan, no matter what obstacles he had to defeat. The first step of his plan involved writing a letter to his father. Draco being Draco, and always a touch too melodramatic, decided that he needed to write this letter in his own blood. He figured that his father would appreciate the added effect and vulgar sentiment. After all, no matter what the circumstances, Malfoys always went out with a bang.

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Dear Father,

I'm writing to tell you how I always felt. Yes, I know that I am a Malfoy and Malfoys aren't supposed to feel, but Father, I'm tired of not feeling. I'm tired of failing you in every way imaginable. I always try to please you and do everything you say.

Still, you punish me.

I don't think anyone deserves to be hit and abused so many times the way I am. I'm sorry I went into your office and dropped your Pensieve, but did you really have to whip me with your studded belt just to make your point? You just watched the blood flow down my back; you didn't care that I winced with pain when you struck me. You actually hit me harder when I cried in pain and agony. What kind of father treats his son in this wretched manner?

I'm sorry that I am not like you, Father. I try my best to hide my emotions, but sometimes I just can't. I know you've always taught me to only value the finer things in life, but that's not who I am. Believe it or not, Father, I sometimes enjoy the simple things in life. Did you know that I like to watch the sunset, Father?

Of course you didn't, because according to you, watching the sunset is only something "weak" people do, not Malfoys. I have tried to do everything you ask of me. You hate Muggles and Mudbloods, and you have taught me to do the same. You have taught me all the qualities I needed to be a good Slytherin, and I have become one for you.

Do you know how nervous I was when the Sorting Hat fell over my eyes? I thought I would disgrace you by being put into Hufflepuff, but luckily, I wasn't. The Sorting Hat told me I didn't have a pure enough heart to be in any other house other than Slytherin. Do you know why that is, Father?

It's because of you.

You have always been so cold to me that I tried to mimic you. At first, it was difficult, but I soon learned that it's always easier to hide emotions than face them. Both you and Mother ignored me and never embraced me in a hug or told me you loved me. Of course, Mother hugged me a few times, but that was in front of company to make it seem like she was a caring, loving parent; she's not and you aren't either.

I know you are probably going to laugh when you read this, but all I ever wanted was for you to love me. Yes, I know that in your eyes, love is just foolish Hufflepuffish sentiment or even worse Gryffindor foolhardiness, but I can't help myself. I didn't expect you to tell me, but I wanted to feel loved. You don't understand, Father, that everything I have ever done in my life has been in a vain attempt to gain your love. I even stopped being friends with people that weren't purebloods because you wanted me to. What if I lost the possible love of my life and future mother of my children just because I was too thick to see through her supposed "polluted" blood?

You don't care about those things, Father. You don't care about my happiness or well-being. All you care about is keeping up appearances and blood. But you know what, Father? I think,no--I know that you are wrong. ALL the people who are purebloods are just ignorant fools, and I include myself when I say that.

I don't know how to feel anymore; I can barely even feel pain. In fact, I embrace it. Now, when you hit me, the pain is not so intense. Besides, I feel like I deserve pain and nothing more.

Intense and constant pain...

Did you know that when I bathe the hot water burns my scars? The pain is so intense, that sometimes I feel like I'm going to faint. Actually, I have fainted a couple of times. Yes, I know that you are appalled because your only son is such a sodding little pansy, but I can't help it. Sometimes, I'm afraid I just don't have what it takes and others I'm afraid that I'm going mad.

You don't understand, Father; I actually enjoy watching the blood trickle down my body. It forms such beautiful clumps in the shower, staining my hair a lustrous scarlet and cascading down the drain in large clusters.

It doesn't matter to me that when I awaken, I'm lying in a pool of my own blood. No, I feel relieved, refreshed even, that some of the poison, a toxin of your own design, Father, is leaving my body. I'm fucked up, Father-- a bloody fucking mess-- and it's all your fault. There I said it. Your only son is a fuck-up and a failure and I blame you.

It's always been you, Father.

Everything is about you and every time I watch the blood trickle down my arms, especially when I use your precious monogrammed athame to relieve myself, I find a twisted sense of poetic justice using your favorite knife to release my pain. I then pray that I drown, that I falter down the drain like the blood, like the water, like the poison.

You know what though, I never do. Some stupid house-elves always come by and save me and clean up the mess. They tell you nothing of it because they are afraid of your reaction. They're afraid you might kill them. I however, am not afraid of death. I think death is another natural part of life.

Death seems very peaceful compared to this.

Do I believe in an afterlife? No, but it doesn't matter. Anything--even nothingness-- would be better than this. You just don't understand, Father. You never have and you probably never will, but I want to feel, Father. I don't know what loves is. I don't know what happiness is. I don't know what fun is. The only emotion I know is HATE!

That is the only thing you have ever taught me. You taught me how to hate, how to be evil, but I don't want to be cold and unfeeling like you, Father. I want to feel emotions, both happiness and pain. I've had more than enough pain in my life.

When will the happiness come?

I'm afraid to see what my future holds. I am nearing my 16th birthday and I know that you will want me to become a Death Eater, but I just can't. Voldemort is your Lord, not mine. I always thought that Malfoys bowed down to no one. Well, at least that's what Grandfather always said. I know we're not supposed to talk about him, but I miss him dearly. Everything changed since his death, especially you, Father. Before Grandfather's death you were a different person. I barely recognize you anymore.

But my decision has nothing to do with you. Okay, that's a lie, it has everything to do with you, but for once in my life, it's my choice and no matter what, I'm sticking by it. Father, I know that I have always failed you in every way. I was never top of my class. I was always second best, well except in Potions, but that was because Snape favored me. Although I trained so hard, I'm still not a good Seeker. Once again, I'm only second best.

I hate to admit this, but Potter could beat me with both hands tied behind his back. You know what else, Father? I don't really hate Potter the way you and the other Death Eaters do. Actually, I don't hate him at all. When I first met him, I actually liked him, but then he tried to show me up. He thinks that's why I started to despise him, but that's not true. If anything, I respect him for confronting me, but I knew that you wouldn't let me be friends with him because he's a half-blood and a Muggle-lover. Although his mother was supposedly the brightest witch in her class, you probably still only saw her as a filthy Mudblood.

Why is blood so important to you?

The only good people I know do not have pure blood.

I don't deserve to be your son, and I know that. You have threatened to disown me plenty of times. Sometimes, I really wish you would. I'd be nothing on the street, and I'd probably die of hunger. So what? Nobody cares about me, no one ever has. I always lie in bed and drown myself in my own sorrow. I used to cry myself to sleep at night. Pathetic I know, trust me... I know that I'm a horrid little shite, but that still didn't keep me from crying myself to sleep. I was a "weak" child and couldn't help myself.

I remember a night not too long ago, when I was about 8 years old. You caught me crying into my pillows, you grabbed me out of bed and started slapping me. You roughed me up until I stopped crying. You always told me crying wasn't allowed. Crying was a weakness, but you know what? I want to cry, Father! I'm weak, I always have been. If I weren't so weak, maybe I'd be able to stand up to you. If I weren't so weak, maybe I'd try to let my emotions show. Maybe I wouldn't be so cruel to anyone who tries to get remotely close to me.

I always chase people away because I'm afraid of being hurt. I also believe that I don't deserve to be loved. You told me that once, Father, when I was a little boy-- and little boys-- always believe their fathers.

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Draco's quill paused over the paper as tears blocked his vision. He set the quill down and put his hands in his face. No matter how painful it was, he couldn't help but relive that night.

*flashback*

"Daddy! Daddy, you're home."

A short blond boy, wearing dark green dress robes, which were far too long for him, squealed in excitement as he ran over and engorged his father in a tight embrace. Lucius Malfoy was surprised by his son's overzealousness and wasn't sure how to respond. He awkwardly patted young Draco on his back.

"Nice to see you too, son, and please show some respect; call me Father," the taller man finally responded, his voice like ice.

"Yes, dad-- I mean, Father," a young Draco squeaked. The child paused for a second before staring at his father with glassy, silver eyes.

"Father?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"Did you know I love you?"

Lucius Malfoy was stunned; he definitely was not expecting his son to bear his soul to him. The older man didn't know how to answer. "Yes, son, " he finally responded.

After what felt like an eternity to the young boy, but in reality was only a few seconds, young Draco bit his lip and bravely asked his father the question he needed desperately answered.

"Do you love me too, Father?"

Once again, Lucius was flabbergasted. Much like his son, he bit his own lower lip and looked down at his son with confused, steely eyes. He was about to respond when young Draco slipped and actually stepped on the back of his father's robes, tearing them loudly.

"Oops!" the red-faced child shrieked.

Lucius could feel the blood flushing to his own pale cheeks, but unlike his son who was flushed with embarrassment, Lucius was emblazoned with anger.

"Clumsy, insolent boy!" he chided. "You almost ruined my brand new dress robes. I paid many galleons for these robes."

The small blond child hung his head and refused to meet the taller man's hard gaze. His eyes were laced with unshed tears that he was desperately trying to hold back.

"Sorry, Father," he said, his small voice barely audible.

"Don't interrupt me again, boy," he spat.

Draco was about to open his mouth again, but wisely closed it and stared at the floor again.

"Love is something that has to be earned. Do you feel that you earned my love, Draco? Not everyone is worthy of being loved; many aren't, especially bratty, insolent children that don't know their place," Lucius snarled and glared at the now stunned Draco.

"But Father-"

"Bloody hell! I told you not to interrupt, you impertinent brat. Now you will have to be punished!"

"NO!" The small boy shrieked and dropped to his knees. "Please Father, NO! Not again. I'll be good. I promise," he pleaded, tugging on his father's now destroyed robes.

The older man didn't even acknowledge the young boy's pleas. He turned his chin up aristocratically and didn't even bother looking at Draco when he spoke to him.

"Yes, you are unworthy to be called my son. Don't look at me, " he spat.

"And get yourself together for Merlin's sake. Malfoys do not cry. It's unbecoming, Draco. You know this."

Now crying hysterically, young Draco turned away from his father and stared at the floor in a feeble attempt of containing his emotions. After giving Draco a few minutes to contain himself, Lucius unwound his dragon hide studded belt from his slender waist. He held it high in the air and brought it down sharply across his young son's already scarred back. Lucius let the belt sail through the air many, many times. Once he felt that Draco had been adequately punished, he locked him in his room for two whole days with no meals. Once locked in his room, young Draco banged his head against the door repeatedly, completely horrified at the prospect of spending two whole days entirely alone. Behind his door, he heard voices.

"Lucius, don't you think that you are being a bit harsh on young Draco?" a familiar and sweet voice inquired. It was Emily, Draco's governess and Lucius's personal assistant/playmate for all intents and purposes.

"No! He needs to be punished. He has to learn not to disrespect the authority, which in this case is me and that's final," Lucius growled and Draco whimpered from behind the door. He had never heard his father use that tone of voice with Emily. He desperately hoped that Emily wouldn't be punished by Lucius too. Emily was much too pretty to have scars and bruises like Draco's. No, his father wouldn't do that. It wasn't right to hit ladies; his mother had always taught him that. Just in case, young Draco got up from the floor and threw himself on his bed. He didn't want to get caught eavesdropping too.

*End of flashback*

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Draco wiped his bright eyes on his sleeve. He tried to push that memory as far back in his mind as he could. When he had collected himself, he dipped his quill in the makeshift inkwell and proceeded. He needed to finish his letter quickly before the blood ink started to clot.

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That was the first and last time I told you that I loved you.

From that moment on, I knew that I wasn't worthy of being loved. I don't deserve to be loved or even embraced. I definitely don't deserve to be someone's everything. I'm going to end up a miserable old man without a friend in the world. I can see my future now, just another tawdry headline in the gossip pages: 'Malfoy Heir Shames Family: the only Male Spinster'.

No, you would never let that happen.

I'll probably be forced to marry some wealthy, vapid slag, who I won't care a thing about. I'll be forced to have a child with her so there will be a Malfoy heir and my life will be ruined. Actually, my life will be ruined way before that. I know that you will force me to become a Death Eater, and I don't have the strength to deny becoming one. I'm so cold; the venom that courses through my veins feels like ice sometimes. It's probably because that's how I feel inside. I don't want to be cold anymore. I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't even want to try to fight for the approval that I lost a long time ago.

I want to tell you that I HATE YOU because you ruined my life, but I can't. You've taken everything away from me: my happiness, my future, my faith, and my whole life but still I don't hate you. I just can't. I'm not like you, who can hate so easily. I don't hate; the only person I hate is Voldemort! I hate him so much it eats me up inside! He took you away from me; maybe if he weren't your master, you'd spend more time with me. Perhaps you'd even love me. No, probably not. Who am I kidding? I would be a disappointment to you no matter what the circumstances.

As you can see, this parchment is stained with nothing other than my own tears. Yes, Father, I did cry and I admit it openly too. Now you have all that I have left to give, all of me, Father-- my blood, tears, and soul. There's nothing left to give and I just can't serve Voldemort.

Like I said before, he is your master, not mine! I can't deal with this horrible life anymore. I wish that I had never been born. Nobody loves me; nobody would care if I died. Actually, I know a couple of people, mostly Hufflepuffs of course, that would probably celebrate and throw a party because I died. Well, at least I'll be able to make someone happy.

Anyway, I have let both you and the rest of the world down. I can't go on living this way; I'd rather die than become a servant to Voldemort. And that's what I'm going to do. When I get home to the manor for Christmas holidays, I will kill myself on Christmas Eve.

I'm sorry I displeased you so much, but you're young...so, go ahead and have another child, another son. I hope that he will be worthy to be called your son. I am sorry for all the pain and aggravation I have caused you. I promised myself that I would never say these words to you again, but by the time you read this, I will be gone... It doesn't matter anymore.

Okay, I love you, Father. There, I said it.

Whoever would've thought that three little words could be so hard to say? I know that you probably don't feel the same, and I don't expect anything in return. All I want, is that when you start your new life, please save a little spot in your memory for Draco Malfoy, your first son.

Farewell, Father.

Please apologize and send my love to Mother and Emily. I just couldn't bear writing any more letters and I ran out of blood ink. This is really it. Goodbye forever.

My Warmest Wishes,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

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: : :

Draco folded the letter and put it in his special box. He wasn't really going to give his father that letter. He would put it in his box where he put all the other letters he's written, but never sent. This box held several letters to his father, one to his mother, a letter to Potter, a letter to Granger, and a few others. Draco was still planning to kill himself tomorrow night after his mother's Christmas party. Actually, he planned to kill himself on the stroke of midnight. He managed to purchase a rather sleek muggle weapon.

What was its name again? Oh wait, a gun, that's its name.

With this gun, Draco would hold it up to his head and pull the trigger. The shady character he bought it from assured him that it would work. He explained that it would be messy, but nonetheless effective. Draco figured it would be a fitting ending, poetic justice, and of course as Father always told him: "Malfoys always go out with a bang". Draco was definitely going to "go out with a bang". Perhaps his Father would finally be pleased.

The lanky blond closed his box of unsent letters and then sat down at his desk, to quickly scrawl another letter, a better one.

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Dear Father,

How are you? I hope that you are in fine health and spirits. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. I am not okay, Father. I cannot deal with life anymore. It's getting too hard, and I dread my future. I cannot become a Death Eater. I rather die than become one. So, that's what I plan to do, die. I'm sorry for not being a good son to you. You can have another son, a better one, one more like you. Please do me one last favor, and give my love to Mother and Emily.

Best Regards,

Draco L. Malfoy

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: : :

Draco folded up the new letter and stuffed it in an envelope. Yes, that would be a better letter to give to his father. He put that letter on his nightstand and went to bed. This would be the last time he slept in his bed at Hogwarts. For some reason, he wasn't even sad.

The next morning, Draco left the Slytherin dormitory early. He wanted to go on his last morning run before he left Hogwarts permanently. Crabbe and Goyle woke up late as usual and went looking for Draco.

"Uh, he's not in his bed, Vincent," Goyle said. "Where do you think he is?"

"I don't know, Greg. What am I, his bloody keeper?" Crabbe replied.

"No, I didn't mean that. For Merlin's sake, you don't have to snap at me," Goyle spat and pretended to be mildly offended.

"Okay, I'm sorry, Greg. Look, I'm just really hungry. This new diet is driving me mad," he responded and briefly paused to lock eyes with the other boy. "I know Draco wants us to lose weight, so we'll be faster on our broomsticks," he continued, "but I just can't take it anymore," replied a contrite looking Crabbe.

"Aww, poor baby," cooed Goyle. He playfully pinched his secret boyfriend's shoulder and then kissed him chastely after double-checking that they were truly alone.

"Mmmmm..." Crabbe moaned. "What did I do to deserve that? You're awfully sweet today, Greg. What did I do to deserve this?"

"Oh nothing," the taller boy responded. "I'm just a sweet bloke, what can I say? Besides, you've been working so hard. I think you deserve a little sugar. Since Draco isn't here, why don't we go through his sweets and nick a couple before he gets back?"

Vincent's chocolate eyes brightened significantly and he smiled as widely as a child who was told Christmas had come early.

"That sounds like a brilliant plan, Gregory. We just have to make sure we don't get caught. Why don't you look in his trunk and I'm going to check in his secret stash that he thinks we don't know about."

Gregory Goyle smiled mischievously at his boyfriend, while asking, "What stash is that, Vinny?"

"Under his bed of course. Seriously, Greg, you would be lost without me." The taller boy leaned in for another kiss and this time it lasted just a bit longer.

"I know," he responded coyly after breaking their kiss. "Now find me some sweets, you wanker."

Goyle rummaged through the disaster that Draco had growing under his bed and pulled out an all too familiar wooden box. He had found Draco's box of unsent letters. As Greg attempted to open it with clumsy fingers, Vincent slapped his hands.

"Don't touch that, Gregory! You know Draco will kill us if he finds out we went through his things. Besides, knowing Draco, it's probably cursed with a bunch of nasty hexes."

"You're right, Vinny. I'll just put this back where I found it," Greg said.

"What are you, mental? You'll probably just activate the hexes. Just put it back on his bed and we'll blame it on Nott or something. Okay?" interrupted Crabbe.

Goyle didn't look convinced, but he followed his boyfriend's advice anyway. While he placed the box on Draco's bed, his boyfriend playfully pinched his arse and Goyle didn't even realize he had knocked the box open, when he ran after Crabbe and left their dormitory.

Now, Draco's box of unsent letters was sprawled all over the floor, the letters just waiting to be read.

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To Be Continued...

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Author's Note: I know that Draco seems too angsty and OCC, but trust me there's a reason for this. Also, no one takes the idea of suicide lightly, especially not a Malfoy; therefore, in order for Draco to even consider such a drastic decision, his mental health and self-esteem needed to be completely deteriorated. I hope you'll bear with me for now because I promise it will be worth it. = )

*I started this story a long, long time ago and hate that I never finished it, so I'm taking up the challenge of rewriting and completely changing this fic. Let me know what you think of my revision.

Thanks for reading.

~Icicle