Chapter 1 --- End of the Line
“Get out of my bar!”
Draco Malfoy looked up in surprise at the high-heeled form of Madam Rosmerta. Her face, usually so beautiful, was contorted with rage and her nails dug uncomfortably into his arms. “I know who you are,” she hissed, her face inches from his own so that her breath tickled his pale cheek. “I know it’s you, Malfoy. How can you think you’re still welcome here, after the torture you put me through two years ago? Get out, before I call the Ministry. I’m sure they’d be very pleased to talk to you, wouldn’t they? I heard about your parents’ deaths, Draco, and the rumours of your involvement…”
He raised his hands to show he meant no trouble, but the gesture went unnoticed. With incredible strength for a woman of her stature, Rosmerta hauled him from his stool by the door and hurled him into the street outside in a whirl of robes and threatening words. Then she pushed him forcefully and he landed in a crumpled heap several feet from the door of the Three Broomsticks.
It was snowing, not unusual for Hogsmeade at this time of year, and the little town was alive with festive cheer. Carollers moved from door to door, their happy voices reaching Draco where he lay. Magnificent Christmas trees lined the streets, the twinkling lights of real fairies illuminating the pathway even at this late hour. Residents chattered merrily on their way home. Draco could catch snippets of their conversations and was worried to note that many of them concerned him.
The Christmas cheer was not contagious. Lying sprawled and shivering in the snow, a heavily-disguised Draco was feeling thoroughly miserable. He couldn’t even have a simple drink without somebody recognising him. Then there were accusations of murder and unceremonious ejections from the bars to deal with. Still, it was better than the death threats he had become accustomed to.
As he lay in the snow, it occurred to Draco that he probably deserved this. After all, he had never been a very good person, and he realised that he had this coming. Being such a social outcast in this world, the world he had grown up in, made him feel regretful of his treatment of others: Longbottom, Granger, Weasley, Potter…
‘No’, he thought to himself, ‘Potter is a special case.’
Draco could feel the effects of the Polyjuice Potion wearing off and knew that soon he would look like himself again and Ministry officials would swoop down on him to cart him off to Azkaban. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.
‘There’s no point,’ he told himself. ‘What do I have to live for anyway? I might as well let the Dementors finish me off. Anything would be better than this crippling loneliness.’
It was true. Draco had nothing left to live for. His parents were dead and the rest of his family and friends were either with them or in Ministry custody. Malfoy Manor had been destroyed and with it all his belongings but his wand and the clothes on his back. ‘If only Father could see me now,’ he thought spitefully. ‘His son, the last of the great Malfoys, reduced to scrounging in dustbins to survive’. He laughed bitterly. The Malfoys had never been great. They were a family of evil liars, ruthless snobs who got their pleasure from taunting those less worthy than themselves.
‘But they weren’t less worthy,’ Draco mused. ‘Half-blood, pureblood, Muggleborn, it doesn’t matter. It’s not about who your parents are, it’s about what you can make of yourself. If only I had realised this sooner, things might have been different.’
The air was turning colder, and Draco wished with all his might that he had a home to go to. All he wanted was a warm place to lay his head and to see a face that was genuinely pleased to see him. He felt in his pocket, clutching the ring which lay there. He had thought Pansy of all people would understand, would still care about him.
He swallowed, remembering with pain his visit to Parkinsons’ house…
Pansy opened the door, her face a mask of incredulous disbelief. “Draco?” she squealed, and for a moment he thought everything would be alright. She wanted him, she loved him. It would be just like before. But then-
SMACK.
His head was reeling, his right cheek stinging from the blow she had dealt him. Tiny stars twinkled before his eyes and his vision blurred. He put out a hand blindly, attempting to steady himself on the wood of the front door. Slowly Pansy came back into view, angry tears spurting down her cheeks, an ugly scowl playing on her lips and her eyes full of unswerving hatred. Draco realised that perhaps everything was not fine after all.
“You told me you loved me!” she shrieked hysterically. “You said you wanted to marry me and then you left. You spent the Battle of Hogwarts doing God knows what while I risked my life for your stupid Death Eater cause and then you disappeared off the face of the earth for a year.” She took a deep rattling breath and then she was off again, her words sticking into him like daggers. “I haven’t heard from you in twelve months. The only way I had of knowing you were alive was by reading in the Prophet that your parents were dead and that people were saying you did it. I’ve had to put up with so many horrible rumours, and you don’t even have the decency to show your face until now? What did you think, that stupid little Pansy would take you back as always, that I wouldn’t care what you had done? Forget it Draco. You are a pathetic little toad, and I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
Then she tore the ring from her finger, the ring he had given her so long ago, and tossed it on the doorstep between them. “You mean nothing to me anymore. You’re just as cheap and meaningless as this piece of tin.” She turned on her heel, slamming the door with a resounding crash. Draco felt hollow and empty, and vaguely sick with himself. He stood there for what seemed like hours, pain and loneliness washing over him like waves crashing against a cliff. Then he picked up the ring and walked away slowly and erectly, willing himself not to cry…
It had taken several hours but now the tears came, falling thick and fast. They spilled down his cheeks in jagged, meandering rivers and his slight frame was racked with sobs as he attempted to come to terms with the darkness consuming him. Draco had thought things would get better when the Second War ended. After all, Potter and his friends had saved him twice that night in Hogwarts. He had hoped they would just accept him and move on, and that everybody else would follow suit.
He hadn’t expected the hatred which came his way, the brutal beatings and poisonous words. He could never have imagined the variety of curses which came his way, or anticipated the numerous reporters vilifying him in the Daily Prophet. He could never have known that those who once adored him would turn so quickly without even giving him a chance to tell his side of the story.
He had never meant to be a bad person. His father had simply trained him to believe the Malfoy version of things and somehow he had never realised that there could be any other way of seeing things. He hadn’t meant to hurt people, but he wasn’t brave like Potter and his gang of do-gooders. He couldn’t be blamed for obeying the Dark Lord, who had tortured and threatened him into doing things which gave him endless sleepless nights. So he had gained a nasty reputation, and by the time he began to see things the way they really were it was too late. People knew what he was like and simply refused to believe that a wizard as thoroughly bad as Draco Malfoy could ever change.
He lay there on the ground, crying until he had no tears left to cry. There was nobody left to see his pathetic, remorseful form slumped in a heap of fallen snow. The village of Hogsmeade was silent; the villagers were tucked away in their beds, the lights were extinguished in Hogwarts Castle, and even the fairies had retreated for the night.
Draco was cold. His skin was even paler than usual, almost the same colour as the snow around him. Numbness tugged at his limbs and he felt more alone than ever. ‘ I could just go to sleep,’ he thought bleakly. ‘I could go to sleep and just not wake up. Then I would be free; free of suspicion, free of hatred and free of this terrible feeling. There is nothing worse than being alone.’
This dark thought was cementing itself firmly in his mind, and he was curling up to fall into an endless sleep when he heard crunching footsteps. He opened his eyes fearfully. Not more pain. He couldn’t take any more.
Then there was a tentative hand on his hunched back and he heard the voice of a young woman. He recognised it in an instant, but the tone surprised him. So often he had heard it sounding disgusted and full of loathing but now, as she whispered his name, it was gentle and perhaps concerned. It was this more than anything which made him sit upright and look her in the eyes. Sight confirmed his initial identification and before he could stop himself he blurted out clumsily, “What are you doing here?”
A Wreath of Loneliness by GaelicGryffindor
Story Notes:
This is a slow burner, but stick with it. The warnings are just a precaution and wont amount to much... The character death is in reference to Lucius and Narcissa, self injury and suicide are more to contemplation than anything else and sexual situations wont get too graphic!!!
I do not own Harry Potter, the charcters and locations are all the creation of JK Rowling.... Last Chapter of Deathly Hallows disregarded!
Chapter Notes: OK so not much to note in the first chapter.... Please review and offer CONSTRUCTIVE criticism....
Chapter Endnotes: Hi everybody, hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of my first fanfic!!!! I hope everyone likes the ending, it's a bit of a cliffie!!!!! Please review..... Thanks!