Numb

NUMB

"No," said Draco stubbornly.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Lucius asked incredulously.

"I mean, no," Draco said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back into his chair. Narcissa looked between her husband and her son. So alike, yet so different, something Lucius would never be able to see. She sighed deeply and returned to her meal.

"You'll do as you're told idiot boy," Lucius said threateningly.

"I don't want too," Draco said, reverting back to a child-like state.

"Of course you want to," Lucius said with a wave of his hand, "I became a Death Eater after graduating from Hogwarts and so will you."

"Why?" Draco said.

This was the real question, why? Why did he always have to do everything like his father wanted? The answer to this question would either confirm all of his suspicions, or show them to be misconceptions.

"Because, Draco," his father said in exasperation, "I did it, it's like a family tradition."

His father spread his arms wide, as though offering Draco his deepest desire.

I'm tired of being what you want me to be,

Feeling so faithless, whilst under the surface

Draco sighed and slumped a little in his chair. It was true then, his father merely thought of him, his son, as an extension of himself. Draco didn't look up into his father's eyes. Little did Lucius know that his son's real greatest dream and hope, was to be individual. To be his own person, allowed to have his own personality instead of this sneering cold-hearted bastard that he was forced to play.

I don't know what you're expecting of me,

Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.

(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)

"Dad," Draco said heavily, "I'm not..."

He trailed off, he wasn't even sure if he could say these words to his father. He looked to his mother. She looked steadfastly back into his eyes and gave him a small nod and a smile. Draco felt heartened and looked up at his father.

"I'm not you."

Lucius looked at him, shocked.

"Well of course you're not me," he said as he shook his head. Draco allowed a ray of hope to come through. Maybe he had merely misunderstood his father's intentions. Lucius let out a small derisive laugh. Maybe not.

"I'm what you should be aiming for, Draco. You are no way near my standards, always letting that mudblood fool of a girl beat you in tests..." Lucius began to rant.

Every step that I take is another mistake to you.

(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow.)

Draco slumped further down. Here it was again, the speech. The one where he was told how useless he was and how he would never live up to the Malfoy standard. He'd heard it many times and he had started to care less and less about the words. He didn't care that Hermione was better than him. He actually, though he hated to admit it, quite admired her for her strength of mind and her determined attitude. He had been pleasantly surprised that day when she had slapped him. It had hurt, but it showed her at her best, a fiery determined girl who would never break under any pressure. He wanted to be strong, like that. He closed off from the conversation, stopped hearing the words being spat at him. He didn't have to listen, and he wouldn't.

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there,

Become so tired,

So much more aware.

I've become a mess

All I want to do,

Is be more like me

And be less like you.

He watched his father's mouth moving with glassy eyes. He shook his head mutely, trying to shake off the cold that was seeping into his bones. He always felt like this when he had closed off from the speech. It had been getting worse lately. The cold was coming in more easily, and leaving less quickly. Draco vaguely thought that he should be a little concerned about this but there was no room in his brain for concern. His father took up all the space. Lucius stopped raging when he caught sight of his wife's face. She had her eyes cast downwards and she looked like she was being torn in half. She was far too soft on the boy; he blamed her a little for Draco's current attitude. He didn't want to cause her pain by ranting at her pride and joy day and night, so he decided a different approach was in order. He looked at his son, who seemed to be sliding off his seat and breathed deeply. He got up from his chair and walked to the opposite end of the table where Draco was sat, staring into space. He knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Draco was brought back from the dark place when he felt pressure on his shoulder. He looked down to see his dad clutching at him.

"All right Draco, follow me," Lucius said as he let go and stood up. Draco followed his father from the dining room. Narcissa watched them leave. She gave a dry little sob before regaining her composure. She breathed deeply and left the room.

Draco followed his father into a dark room. There were many rooms in the mansion, and he didn't bother looking in all of them, they were mostly just empty space. This room seemed to be the same as the others. His father walked over to the fireplace and leaned in. He rummaged around for a while before producing a very large chest. He carried it into the middle of the room and opened the lid. Draco looked in curiously. It looked like memorabilia of some sort. His father pulled out lots of objects and laid them on the floor.

"Things from all the time I've been a Death Eater," Lucius said proudly as he looked fondly at the objects. He picked up a photo and handed it to Draco.

"Taken on the day of my induction," Lucius said as Draco stared at the images. It showed his father, wearing the Death Eater's robes and holding his mask in his hand. He was waving and smiling. Stood next to him was a man that Draco did not recognise. There was something about his face that expressed true evil. He was snake-like and he looked cruel. He was smirking viciously.

"Who's that?" Draco asked dully.

"That's the Dark Lord," Lucius said as he continued rummaging in the box. Draco dropped the picture abruptly; he did not want to look at him anymore.

"See? Fond memories, Draco, fond memories. They could be yours too," Lucius said over his shoulder before returning to the box. Draco glared at his father's back. He felt claustrophobic. His father was pressing in on him from all sides.

Can't you see that you're smothering me?

Holding too tightly afraid to lose control.

Lucius pulled out some robes.

"My first Death Eater's robes, you'll wear them on your induction of course," Lucius said, as he looked the robes over.

"No!" Draco yelled, he was breathing heavily due to the anger that was building inside of him. Lucius stared at him in shock.

"Yes, maybe you're right," Lucius said thoughtfully. Draco stopped breathing heavily and stared at his father with wide eyes.

"You'll want your own robes, nice new ones that you can show off."

"Argh!" Draco screamed, "No! That's not it! I'm not you! I don't want your robes! I don't want your career! I don't want your life! I don't want to be you!"

Lucius glared at his son, rage bubbling up inside him.

"Like you could ever live up to my name! You're a failure!" Lucius raged at him, pushing Draco away forcefully, "I'm surprised, nay, baffled, as to why the Dark Lord still wants you!"

'Cause everything that you thought I would be,

Has fallen apart, right in front of you

(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)

"Everything I do is wrong, it's never good enough you, and it never will be!" Draco cried as he felt misery and anger and pain fight inside him.

Every step that I take is another mistake to you.

(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)

And every second I waste is more than I can take.

"Get out," Lucius hissed, "Get out of my sight, I cannot bear to look at such a waste of skin. You could have been great, but you are weak and pointless. You'll never make me proud will you? I'll never be able to love you!"

Draco couldn't breathe. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Why hadn't he been able to close off quickly? He'd heard every ounce of hate that was behind his father's exterior. He blinked a couple of times then turned and walked out of the room. He climbed the stairs and walked to his room. He opened the door and shut it again then went and sat on his bed and stared. He couldn't feel his hands and his feet were tingling. His father didn't love him.

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there,

Become so tired

So much more aware.

I've become a mess,

All I want to do

Is be more like me

And be less like you

He thought that he should be more upset, but he seemed to be unattached from his emotions, like they weren't part of him anymore. He felt numb. He heard footsteps enter the room below, the living room. He heard a muffled voice. Draco lay on the floor and put his ear to the ground.

"So good of you to see me my Lord, I am unworthy."

That was his father.

"Well then, Malfoy, is the boy ready?"

A second voice. It was unfamiliar and it chilled Draco to the depths of his heart. His father had said my Lord, could this possibly be Voldemort?

"He needs more persuasion, he is not swaying easily to my will."

Draco snorted. Yeah, he wasn't swaying easily to his will, the domineering bastard.

"Well, Malfoy, I want him, my ranks need filling."

"Yes, Lord."

"Use any means necessary, pain if it comes to it."

"But Lord, he is my son, I..."

"I don't care, Malfoy, you have failed me and now you disobey?"

"No Lord, no, any means, as you wish..."

Draco climbed off the floor and stood up.

And I know,

I may end up failing too,

But I know,

You are just like me

With someone disappointed in you.

So his way was by pain. A trial by fire, as it were, except Draco never asked for the trial. He sat on his bed again. He should be feeling scared or worried or... something. He felt cold. The chill that had come earlier, when he had shut down because of the speech, hadn't left him. It was seeping into his brain, making that numb too. He felt tired.

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there,

Become so tired

So much more aware.

I've become a mess,

All I want to do

Is be more like me

And be less like you

He looked over to his desk. It gleamed dimly in the dark of his room. He knew it was in there, but was it worth it? He wasn't sure. He walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. The knife shone out, like a beacon in the dark. He smiled at it, like an old friend. He picked it up and went over to his bed again. He lifted up the arm of his shirt and looked at the old scars there. Cutting usually helped, this pain was different, he could handle it, he could control it, unlike his future, it seemed. He could do it. Just a little bit further than usual, that was all, not difficult. He could choose his own future, he didn't want his father's life, and he would end it on his terms.

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there.

(I'm tired of being what you want me to be)

I've become so numb,

I can't feel you there.

(I'm tired of being what you want me to be.)

He placed the knife to his arm.

"I'm tired of being what you want me to be," he whispered as he pulled the knife from his elbow down to his wrist, long and deep.

Narcissa moved away from her hiding place by the door of the living room. She had heard her husband's conversation with the Dark Lord. She started to climb the stairs. She needed to speak to her boy; she needed to reassure him that everything was all ok. She was his mother after all; it was her job to comfort, even when there seemed to be no comfort left. She walked to Draco's door and knocked.

"Draco?" she called softly through the door. She could here no movement, no sign that he would come to open the door. She called again and listened. Nothing. Maybe he was just in a bad mood. He hadn't had a chance to eat much at dinner. She made her way down to the kitchen and called to the house elf.

"Make something for Master Draco, he didn't eat dinner," she requested.

"Yes, mistress!" the small creature squeaked and ran away. It returned moments later with a large sandwich and an apple. She took the food and went back upstairs. She knocked on the door again.

"Draco, darling?" she called, "I've brought you some food, please let me in."

She listened carefully, again there was nothing. This was not like Draco; he always let her in, especially when he'd been fighting with his dad. She didn't like to go in without being invited because she understood that privacy was important. She reasoned that he wouldn't mind this one time, he needed to talk to someone and she was always willing. She turned the doorknob gently and pushed. The door swung open to reveal the room in darkness. She could make out his figure slumped on the bed. Asleep then? This was unusual, it wasn't late at all and Draco was a night person anyway. She placed the plate and the apple on the desk. As she did so she noticed that a drawer was open, so she shut it. She walked over to the bed and leaned over her child. He had something in his hand. She pulled it from his grasp. She gasped and dropped it. A knife? She quickly turned the body towards her and stared. Blood was running from deep, long, vicious looking wound on his left arm.

"Draco? Draco?" she cried desperately as she shook his body.

"LUCIUS HELP!" she screamed as loud as she could. She continued to shake her son as she heard footfalls thundering up the stairs.

Lucius and the house elf burst into the room.

"What is it?" he cried.

"Draco, Draco?" she was yelling desperately. Lucius rushed over and saw the blood and the cut and croaked hoarsely.

His mother's shaking had roused him from a pleasant floating place. He cracked an eye open.

"Draco!" His mother's voice was heavy with emotion.

"Why?" Lucius asked his barely conscious son.

"I'm tired of being what you want me to be," Draco whispered before closing his eye again. Lucius crumpled to the floor as Narcissa cradled her son.

"Get help," she said to the house elf, who rushed away at once.

She held the limp form of her son close to her body. The one thing she had really loved.

She sobbed once, then the tears came, fast and strong. She had been holding them back too long.