Draco's Tears

He knew he'd have to face it some time, but it just seemed too surreal. How could it have happened? He shivered and wiped his eyes as he got up from where he was sitting, and made his way out of the gate and back up to the deserted house.

He didn't care that it was raining, or that his clothes were muddy from sitting on the wet ground. He didn't care that he lived in the old servants' quarters; he couldn't face going back to the big house- the place where it had happened. He didn't care that he was slowly wasting away due to the grief. It wasn't as if anybody actually cared anymore.

He knew that it was his entire fault too. If he had just stood up to his father, if he had said something to someone, anyone. But it was too late now. Nobody came to her rescue, nobody saved her. Nobody even cared what happened to her. Instead he just watched, helpless as his father destroyed the one person that mattered to him- the only person to have ever loved him. Voldemort had killed his father soon after.

Draco was the only person present at his mother's funeral apart from the priest. He suspected that the ministry had hushed up the affair, but it was still a great shock that none of her family members had shown up. He thought that his mother deserved better than that, but there was nothing he could do.

He visited her grave everyday, and decided to sever all his ties with the rest of the wizarding world. He even refused to go to Hogwarts, but he knew that due to the increasing threat of Voldemort and his supporters, the ministry had little time to deal with this.

He wouldn't miss it really. It wasn't like he had any real friends there anyway. Sure he had Crabbe and Goyle, but they were more like lackeys than actual friends. Everyone in the school either feared him or worshipped him like lapdogs. Nobody really liked his company or his conversation. That was the trouble with being the son of a rich Death Eater- everybody had a motive. Pansy was the only person who was remotely nice to him, and she had left school the year before to marry some seventh year from Durmstrang. She had written to him once or twice over the summer about her great new family, but that was about it.

No, Draco was completely alone in the world, without anyone to care about what happened to him or what he did with his life. He had already tried to take his own life by slashing his wrists, but somehow he had survived that, only to deepen his state of depression.

At night, he would cry himself to sleep, afraid that if he closed his eyes he would relive the horror of watching his mother die before him. His dreams were always really vivid, with his father promising that he would get Draco too. No matter how much Draco screamed, nobody ever came to his rescue, and his father would step ever closer, with the dripping knife in his hand. Draco knew that every step his father took was a step closer to his own death. He also knew that the way things were going, his father was going to succeed.

Although Draco knew perfectly well that his father had been killed at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the dreams felt so real, and Draco feared for his life. Draco didn't understand why his first attempted suicide didn't work, but he was going to try again. He had simply lost the will to live, having his every waking moments haunted by his past, and his dreams haunted by the death of his mother. He couldn't live with the constant stress of his existence. Most importantly of all, he wanted his father dead, and that meant killing himself too.