Eerie darkness suffocated him in the dead of night. Silence drifted through the many halls of the mansion; his only unreal companion. He was alone - alone with his nightmares.
"How dare you, Draco!" Lucius Malfoy's words were dripping with hatred as he yelled at his young son. Draco quivered in fear, his small six-year-old body curled into a ball. Lucius’ voice echoed in the otherwise silent Manor. Draco felt the words sting his small eardrums, vibrating around in his mind, making him feel hot and cold flashes around his cheeks. Fear.
"Get up, boy, I will not have a coward for a son!" Draco snapped his body into a straight line, trying his hardest to gather courage and stare his father in the eyes. Identical grey sparred wordlessly, one with anger, one with determination, not willing to break. Courage.
"Now, Draco, I specifically remember telling you never to enter this room, and under no circumstances to ever even think about setting foot in here," Lucius stretched his words out, circling Draco with his intimidating form. Draco stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. He was only six, but he already knew the conduct necessary around his father. He balled his small fist at his sides. Defiance.
"And what do you do, dear son of mine?" he spit out the words as if they poisoned his tongue. Draco refused to give him the satisfaction of a quivering voice. "What do you do, you filthy excuse of Malfoy?"
Lucius rounded his son, stopping finally to bend directly into his line of vision. He menacingly let his eyes twinkle, and his lips snarl. "You directly disobey me!" he whispered, raising his hand and slapping him. Draco cried out in pain, wincing as he fell to the ground, watching his father pick up his hand again . . .
The wind snickered through the darkest shadows of the room, causing one memory to slip away and give way to another. Draco moaned in protest, his calls vibrating through the lonely room.
"YOU WILL NOT DISOBEY ME, DRACO!" Lucius bellowed as his son ran up the stairs.
He quickly strode to the foot of the steps, his voice carrying upwards to his son's ascending ears. "Do not run, you coward! You cannot run from your destiny!"
Draco paused in mid-step, fury filling his features. His neck snapped in the direction of his father; his eyes narrowed. Anger.
"The Dark Lord is not," he paused, letting his words echo around in his head, "my destiny." He whipped his head and continued to dash upwards.
"THE HELL HE IS!" Lucius yelled, and a split second later he had cast the Cruciatus Curse at his own son. Draco cried out. Pain.
A subconscious gasp rang out through the clouds of the past that surrounded Draco's bed. They only thundered harder.
“Disgrace. That is what you are.”
Draco jaw remained clenched as his father dangled the bait before his eyes, taunting him.
“You dare step foot in this house, with even a thought about her?” He quickly paced across Draco’s room, interrupting him from his unpacking. Draco dropped his Slytherin robes on his bed, on top of his luggage. Rage.
“Your point, Father?” Draco’s voice cut across the room. The walls bled from the severe hostility.
“How dare you!” Lucius whispered, his hand harshly grasping Draco’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around. “You address me in such tone, you treat me with such disrespect, and,” he said, his nails digging into Draco’s shoulder, “you carry feelings for a Mudblood? What has become of you?”
“What has become of me?” Draco asked him. Disbelief.
“What has become of you?” Draco’s voice slapped Lucius’ pride.
In a split second, Lucius’ hand slapped Draco’s face, quickly followed by a Cruciatus.
He shuffled around in the covers, hoping to shake the streams of horror films in his eyes. If only he was so lucky.
"Who is the coward now, Father?" Draco snarled, taking hold of one of the many metal bars that separated him and his freedom from his father and his imprisonment in Azkaban. For once in his life, Draco did not feel inferior to Lucius; he felt in control. Power.
Cold darkness drifted through the halls, keeping everyone’s happiness clinging from a thinning string. Draco fought the Dementor’s drainage, unwilling to give in to the memories that surfaced in his mind. All the memories caused by the man who lay in the cell before him, rotting away into the cracks of the walls. Disgust.
Lucius stood in his cell, hatred brewing in his eyes. He looked at Draco from top to bottom, scanning him for what he had become. "What kind of son are you?" Lucius whispered, though it reached Draco's ears loud and clear. The words were meant to strike Draco in the heart, making him feel guilty. The only thing they inspired was more anger. Hate.
"What kind of father are you?" Draco spit out, shaking his head. He knew that such words were wasted on Lucius; he held no heart. Draco let go of the metal bars and let go of his father once and for all.
Moonlight sliced through the window near Draco's bedside and slowly lit up the small smirk that settled on his face. Peace. At last.
Nightmares by Sarakime
Chapter Notes: Thanks so much to Danielle/Sour.Apple. (on the forums)/FeatherTrader (on here) for betaing!
This was written for the final exam of Prof. Talon's DADA D/A First Years Class.