Of Choices and Regrets

Chapter 11- Hurting and Healing

Draco breathed in deeply and quietly opened the door. He had just arrived home, and felt a bit apprehensive. Yet the halls were as deserted as before.

No one was running around, no one was waiting for him, no one grabbed him, no one demanded to know where he had been. A soft sigh escaped through his down-turned lips as the empty scene met his dull, cheerless eyes. He was not sure why, but he was disappointed.

A small voice quivered at the edge of his mind. Did you think they would care? Did you think they would even notice? Voldemort had told him that he must stay, and Draco was foolish enough to think that the command had meant he would be punished if he left. He had apparated; obviously the Death Eaters around the house had not become aware of his quick trip to London.

Draco lethargically walked to his bed and flopped down. With his face buried in the pillow, he let out a sob. No one was there for him. No one cared about him. He was no one to everyone.

Curled up in the fetal position, Draco watched the sun set outside his window. A beautiful scene appeared as the sun fell behind the trees, and the colorful fading light resonated in Draco. People tend to forget about the sun. They rush and hurry, going about their business, working themselves to exhaustion for worthless, worldly objects. Head down and focused on themselves and their hollow goals, they never look up and see the beauty. They never stop to watch something so common, slow, and useless as the changing sky.

They forget, and do not watch. The sun is so constant and consistent, people get habitualized, able to look but not see. The sun sets as battles rage, fights escalate, the ailing dies, lovers are torn apart, and lives are ruined. The sun sets as people meet, children play, family reunites, and the tide calmly crashes. The sun is uncontrollable, inexplicable, and unaware of the things around it.

Draco was engulfed by the growing darkness. Restless, yet still feeling lethargic, Draco pulled himself up. Tightly gripping his bedpost, he regained his balance and ran his fingers through his hair. Straightening his wrinkled muggle clothes, he slipped on his shoes and apparated to an empty, unsafe part of London. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, making sure he had his wand and wallet.

Leisurely, he plodded along with his head down. A few blocks away, a door opened and the street was quickly filled with the sounds of shouting, music, and laughter, which died as the door slammed shut. Entering the shabby establishment, Draco found himself in a rowdy club. Ignoring the small dance floor crammed with people, he stalked over to the bar and ordered a drink. As he attempted to get to one of the empty rickety tables, he was jostled and pushed about.

Worn-out, miserable, and now angry, Draco quickly downed his drink and ordered more. He swirled the glasses, looking deep into the beautiful liquid before tipping it back and emptying it into his awaiting mouth. Soon, his table was covered with empty glasses and his vision was blurry.

Draco had hoped to drink his problems away, yet instead he found that they seemed to be amplified and distorted. His ghosts became solid, his fears scratched ominously on his psyche, and his sorrows drowned out the loud, raucous music.

Getting up, a man bumped into Draco.

"Hey, watch it!" Draco's words were slurred. He sluggishly turned to look at the man and struggled out of his chair, blinking furiously against the fuzzy distortion from the alcohol. His limbs did not want to respond like normal. But more than that, his entire body and mind felt weird as he changed position.

"Why don' you, 'k?" The man seemed to be as drunk as Draco. His brow was furrowed, and he squinted his watery eyes at Draco, scanning and sizing him up. "You lil'... lil' ferret!" He laughed heartily at his own lame joke, unaware of the memories he had caused.

Within seconds, the man was on the floor with a bloody nose.

"Wha... wha' the hell?" the man yelled as he attempted to wipe the blood away. Quicker than it seemed possible, he was back on his feet, fists flying toward Draco.

Draco was able to duck the first one, but the second punch caught his eye. Draco punched back blindly; he was too drunk and obsessed with hurting the other man to try to block the hits he was receiving. The other was bigger, older, and stronger. Fighting in a dingy bar was probably no new thing to him.

Their fight brought them near the dance floor. Draco slipped and fell, hitting the back of his head on a table with a loud thud. The man grabbed Draco's arm and twisted his behind him. There was a sickening crack as the arm broke. Draco curled up, choking on the blood in his mouth, unwilling to fight anymore. Lifting up a nearby chair, the drunkard broke it over Draco's head. The man reached down again, and Draco kicked. The man fell swearing as Draco flailed around. His hand found a chair leg, and he thrust it in the general direction of the man. The man let out a brief yelp, then grabbed Draco's head and slammed it against the foot of the table as hard as he could.

Pain engulfed Draco briefly, and then the darkness from the edge of his vision slowly took over.

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Draco slowly woke up. He did not know where he was, and could not remember why he hurt so much. He could not move as though he was belted down to the bed, and his eyelids were as heavy as lead. He parted his lips and tried to say something, though it certainly did not come out as anything recognizable.

His head pounded, and he was nauseated. He remembered drinking, but... It hit him. He had been in a fight. But that still did not explain where he was and how he got there.

He struggled to open his eyes, blinking furiously against the bright light.

Draco was in his bed back at the manor. After a few seconds, he realized that there was only one candle burning, creating a pattern of dark shadows throughout the room. Slowly and carefully, he turned his head toward the light. Sitting in a plush chair a few feet from his bed, his mother was intensely reading a book and biting her thumbnail. She looked up as he moved, and stared at him for a moment, clearly in shock.

"Draco, darling! You're... you are awake!" She jumped up, carelessly threw her book to the side, bending some of the yellowing pages, and ran daintily to his side. Gripping his hand, she confessed her fears with utter sincerity and anxiety that extended from her eyes to her posture. "I was so worried! We could not find you for three hours, and I was so afraid you... I worried that... we thought..." Narcissa stopped and turned her head down to the left, away from Draco.

After a pause, she restarted. "I was not sure I would see you again. I thought you surely would have been found by the Order or... or... k-killed." Narcissa choked, letting out a sob. She gave up trying to speak and hugged Draco instead, burrowing her head.

Draco smiled and hugged back as best he could. This was how it was supposed to be; this was family. People that care about you, people that worry about your safety, people that love you. He breathed deeply, bringing in his mother's scent. A smile flitted across his face.

"I...I'm fine, mother," he managed to croak.

"I know, I know. You are home now, with me." Narcissa released him and perched beside him on the bed. She smoothed his hair and stroked his cheek. "Do not scare me like that again, okay?"

Draco smiled and nodded, already slipping back into sleep. His eyes simply would not stay open.

Narcissa smiled sweetly at her son. "I... I love you, Draco," she whispered as he drifted off.

"I love you too," Draco murmured as oblivion overtook his senses. He was able to sleep better than any other time he could remember. His nightmares were gone, leaving a restful peace.

He was content.